Blind Endeavours: Part 3- Symphony No 25 in G Minor
by Wiz-Chic
Summary: Tensions rise as time is on the cusp of running out. Everyone's life is at stake and Sherlock may not be able to keep up as Moran's growing impatience takes action against them. Madeline and John wonder if Sherlock even has a plan or if their situation really is as hopeless as it seems. Sherlock and Madeline's lives become deeply intertwined. Part 3/10. Sherlock/OC. COMPLETE.
1. A Grudge

**Hey everyone! **

**I can't believe we've just begun part 3! Hope you're all still around! We're out of the Reichenfeels! More story movement like in Part 1!**

**And I come bearing GREAT news- my story is now being translated and re-posted in Hungarian with the hard work of Nippa! While I'm not Hungarian nor do I know the language, this is still exciting! **

**A BIG HUGE ENORMOUS EXTRAVAGANT THANK YOU to all of you who have commented on the past 2 parts. I wish I could list all of you individually right now and make you each a lovely cuppa with biscuits so we can sit around and discuss how wonderful you all are, but alas, I can only thank you on here in a list, which I will continue to do to show my unyielding appreciation. **

**Without further ado- **

**Onwards! **

* * *

**20 Seconds Ago.**

There, in his trench coat and blue scarf stood none other than Sherlock Holmes. He eyed Madeline's attire curiously.

"He's not real…" John gasped perching himself against the back of his chair, clutching for his sanity, "Madeline he's not real…"

Madeline, as well, could not believe it nor could she answer.

Sherlock acknowledged them each with a slight nod, "John, Madeline… good evening."

"Oh… my…" Madeline whispered. "God."

Silence fell like a heavy fog.

…But only for a moment.

"**HUAAAAAAAA!**" John's shout vibrated through the air as he ran across the living room head first into Sherlock's chest knocking them both down.

"Oh my god!" Madeline exclaimed watching John sit on top of Sherlock's chest.

John's arms whipped rapidly from side to side with no mercy, punching Sherlock repeatedly as hard as he could. "YOU BASTARD!" He shouted in agony in between hits, "You-" _punch_ "Fucking-" _ punch_ "Bastard!"

"John!" Madeline shouted, "John get off!" Sherlock remained completely still, entirely submissive to the pain with his eyes barely open looking up at John. Only his legs twitching with every hit. Finally Madeline wrapped her arms around John's shoulders and dragged him off releasing the pressure off of Sherlock's chest, causing him to cough harshly at the removed weight gasping for air. Blood was trickling down Sherlock's cut cheekbone and lip. He sat up against the back of the counter gasping for air, tilting his neck back and closing his eyes.

"John-"

"No!" John shouted attempting to struggle out of Madeline's grasp. "Let me go!" And much to his surprise, she did. John fell on his bum onto the floor, but he was far too exhausted to continue with his beating of his old once-dead friend.

Sherlock finally opened his eyes and met John's upset gaze that was in a near snarl. Both men stared at each other in an awkward balance between affection and resentment.

"I _am _sorry John." He declared between breaths.

"How could you?" John whispered softly, "You… you think this is some sort of a game with me?"

"I had to." Sherlock replied quickly, "If I hadn't they would have killed you. And Mrs. Hudson. And Lestrade." He used his legs to slide his back up against the counter, finally standing up. "…I had no choice."

John looked up at him from under his downturned eyebrows still not comforted by Sherlock's words, a slight anger in his eyes, "Do you have… _any_ idea what I've been through this past year? Hm?"

"I know." He paused, "I didn't leave."

Madeline was in a trance at watching both men and barely noticed John lift his arm up towards her. Quickly she helped him stand. John bit his lip and nodded his head speaking in a little more than a whisper. "I suppose now you're just expecting me to forgive you."

Sherlock remained silent, his face stoic. It was then both John and Madeline could clearly see the full damage John had done to Sherlock's face. His lip was cut and swollen, his cheek was red but no longer bleeding, and his left eye had been struck hard as well leaving a violent red mark that was beginning to swell. John had (once again) somehow managed to unconsciously avoided his nose.

"No." Sherlock suddenly replied, his deep voice nearly echoing in the dusty kitchen, "I don't."

There was stillness in the flat. Madeline's eyes moved looking from one man to the other. It took her a moment to realize that they were, in fact, inching towards one another. It wasn't until John and Sherlock stood only a couple of mere inches apart that she began to wonder if John was going to either hit or hug Sherlock this time.

"I don't forgive you." John's voice cracked as he looked up at his old friend, "not yet."

Sherlock nodded.

Without any idea as to how it had happened exactly, it was only seconds later that the two best friends had embraced after 1 year of being apart.

John's head was laying firmly against Sherlock's chest his arms around him while Sherlock laid his chin atop John's head, his arms embracing the shorter doctor. It was only Madeline that could see the insurmountable amount of relief and comfort that made its way onto Sherlock's face- but he allowed it to show _only_ for a moment.

Slowly they both pulled away and avoided eye contact; John cleared his throat as Sherlock looked away as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Even with the scarce situation at hand, Madeline had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes and taunting 'men' aloud. Madeline had also wanted her moment with Sherlock - but she knew this wasn't her time. Not yet. John Watson deserved this time more than anyone and she knew that.

"So…" John began casually, "Who else knows?"

"Well, Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "He was in on it from the beginning."

"Of course." He replied not surprised, "That explains a lot. Wait- _Jesus_, where have you been staying all this time, Sherlock? You can't tell me you and Mycroft lived this long together."

"I didn't. Mycroft's not the only one who knows."

John's face scrunched for a moment as he began to smile lightly in order to hide in his anger. He was not angry or shocked that _Mycroft_ knew Sherlock was alive, but the idea that someone _else_ knew instead of John angered him. There was no one that was **that** important in Sherlock's life, other than possibly Madeline (John still didn't know for sure about that) but the thought of someone else knowing other than him was nearly unbearable. He'd suffered while they knew. John felt a strange jealousy churn in his stomach, "Who else knew?"

"For the past year I've been living with Molly Hooper. She helped set up my fall. She's the other one who knew."

John bit his lip and smiled with a closed mouth, he turned his back to Sherlock for a moment attempting to calm his anger but failed to do so, as he turned around in a sharp twist and punched Sherlock solidly in the face.

This time, it knocked him out.

* * *

**Later.**

It was dark.

Sherlock's face ached. He could feel his heart beating in his head. The familiar pillow and lumps behind his back indicated that he had been moved to lie on the couch. A warm wet towel was dabbing on the cuts along his face. Sherlock thought he already knew who it was sitting next to him, but he underestimated the sleepiness of his thoughts.

"John."

"No." Her voice replied, "Not quite."

Sherlock's eyes shot open to look up at Madeline, fully jolting himself awake. She was refusing to make eye contact with him as she continued dabbing his cuts. He tried to get up but she pushed him back down. "Where's John?"

"It's 3 in the morning. He took a sedative and went to sleep. He's been through quite enough tonight."

Madeline took a moment and ran her fingertip along the cut on his cheekbone. Sherlock attempted to meet her eyesight, but it was to no avail, she wasn't having it.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed, "And you?" Madeline removed her fingertip from his soft skin and finished wiping the blood, folding the towel on the table. "Don't you want to get your hits in?"

It was unknown where he stood with Madeline. Sherlock was quite certain where he was with John, it was exactly as he'd expected. But Madeline was… unreadable. Almost. She certainly looked like she wanted to hit him. Once more- she was a mystery to him.

He had to figure this out, figure anything out. Even having been away for a year from society, Sherlock's deductions were in full swing.

_The metal in the cushions were unusually prominent in his lower back- 2 pillows were missing from the couch. His eyes moved to his and John's chair, the blanket and pillow from John's chair were also missing, yet his own remained. _

_Sherlock noticed his bedroom door open, indicated Madeline had been in and out of it. He concluded she was planning to sleep in his room, but due to her collection of materials- was going to sleep on the floor. _

_The use of John's pillow and blanket while still leaving his in place indicated that she's not sleeping on the floor of his room in order to free up his bed for him- no, she made no indication that he would be in his room tonight. _

_She was sleeping on the floor of his bedroom to escape his… scent. . To escape everything that reminded her of him. To escape him and punish him simultaneously and not give him back his room quite yet._

Madeline looked, just for a second, into Sherlock's eyes as he broke out of his deductions. She knew he'd deduced who he was to her now. A second was all he needed to see the disappointment, the bitterness, and dare he say it- the hate that was brewing behind her eyes.

Madeline turned her head away and didn't take another glance in his direction. She got up and walked away towards his bedroom. It was in the moment when she'd slammed the door behind her that Sherlock noticed his old blue robe carelessly thrown on the dirty floor.

_He was not invited in any way shape or form back into the life of Madeline Smith._

She was a mystery no more.

* * *

**2 Weeks After.**

It had taken quite some convincing on John and Mycroft's part, but Madeline finally agreed it would be safest for her to remain living at 221B. With Michael and Alex continuing their searches in Colorado, Mycroft gave Madeline a list of known places her parents had been in the U.K. but it did not do much. Every location had been searched thoroughly by Mycroft's men had come to dead ends.

She was told being in Colorado wouldn't have made her any safer, not anymore. Moran was growing impatient, and for some reason (which was not explained to her) it was safer for her to be in London than in the states.

_That doesn't really make sense…_ Madeline had thought, but she didn't bother to inquire it more. Truth be told, she couldn't have been happier to be back in London with a few minor exceptions.

Life with Sherlock Holmes had remained complicated and simple all at the same time. Madeline had taken to no longer speak with him, which was not a difficult task as he had yet to bring a conversation to her. There were times John wanted to roll his eyes at them both, and he did, but he kept his thoughts to himself. John had thought that he'd known the strange relationship of Madeline and Sherlock but as time went on he grew more and more confused.

While John had still not fully forgiven Sherlock, he and his old best friend it seemed had gone back into their old routine of solving cases; well, they'd solved 1 so far since his return, but they had found a way to move on through their work. There was no denying that Sherlock missed the company of his friend, he'd even gone out and gotten the milk 1 out of 7 times.

Madeline, on the other hand, was more than generous with her grudge. Giving Sherlock full access to her silent treatment, cold shoulder, and still refusing to let him sleep in his bed by commandeering the floor for sleep.

_That'll teach him! _She'd though hopelessly.

But there was little payoff. Sherlock had gone into his frump phase that he usually went to between cases, but this time he didn't come out of it. He'd worn the same blue robe of his she'd taken from him then abandoned after learning he was still alive. Every single day he wore it, looking utterly disheveled.

_The Beast. The bloody beast. There's no way I'm going to give in!_

* * *

As Madeline sat across from Sherlock in the quiet living room of 221B- him in his chair plucking away at his violin and Madeline in John's chair with a pencil in one hand and a sketchpad in the other, she couldn't take it anymore. She took an angry bite out of her burrito from her usual Mexican restaurant, chewing frustratedly as she watched the nonchalant Sherlock Holmes plucking away without a complaint in his mouth.

There had been something… unsatisfying, about Sherlock's reaction to her grudge towards him.

He didn't fight back.

Sherlock allowed it. In the past this was much out of character, in fact- he would have bluntly enjoyed it and expressed it so, taunting her and thanking her for finally leaving him alone (at least, in her head that's how it would play out). But he said nothing. Reacted with nothing. Did not attempt a thing. Didn't taunt a thing. He hadn't even insulted her once.

Mostly Sherlock just left her alone. As she'd indicated she wanted him to do. So in a way he…

Respected her wishes?

"That's so weird." Madeline whispered aloud to herself on accident. "_Oh shit!_" Quickly she grew worried and her eyes widened as she met Sherlock's eyes for the first time in 2 weeks. They paused for a moment unable to look away. There was a curious glint in Sherlock's eyes, but only a second later did he look away and return to plucking his strings.

Madeline moved her bum around a bit, she could feel it sinking in to the couch, she felt as though she'd gained a good 4 lbs since having not gone to Ballet since Sherlock had come back. She'd been sitting in John's chair all day sketching away while John was out with Lestrade to go look at another lead. Sherlock decided to stay at the flat and keep an eye on Madeline.

This was another strange thing for Sherlock, but it was more than possible that he already knew those leads led to nothing.

These days Sherlock Holmes was not one for going outside. It was only 3 days that he'd vindicated himself in the media. For the most part their front door was bombarded with press of all sorts, but he kept to himself inside the flat. It was also for these reasons that Madeline _also_ hadn't left the flat since then.

_But he doesn't have to sit next to me…_ Madeline thought to herself, observing the consulting detective as she finished her burrito.

Sherlock had kept most of his time to the kitchen, working on different experiments, trying to figure out new leads as to where the documents could be and ignoring all those that Mycroft brought in. But whenever Madeline sat out in the living room, he'd move to the living room. When she went to the bathroom, he'd watch her walk to it and then when she'd walk out he'd watch her then too. He was patiently giving her opportunities to make amends. Wait-

_Patiently? _Madeline shook her head in shock at using that word in a sentence regarding Sherlock Holmes. _Amends?_

Even she couldn't deny it when she realized that Sherlock was, in fact, still alive and back the first thing she felt was relief. She'd missed him so much. But what he'd done in falsely killing himself made her want to punch him in the face or pull his hair till he cried. And the awkwardness of what still laid between them due to their last goodbye was looming between them in every silence and that was killer.

As Madeline continued to sit there, this time chewing on her bottom lip watching Sherlock look at the floor plucking away, paying her no attention, she felt herself blush madly. She remembered Sherlock in that same chair when she'd left 221B 2 years ago. She'd taken his violin out of his hands, straddled his lap, and they'd kissed. Madeline remembered the feel of his long rough fingers on her lower back under her shirt- caressing her-

"Ssss!" Madeline hissed quietly, her back jolting straight as a sudden tingling ran up her spine at the memory. This time Sherlock didn't look her way at her subtle jerk reaction. She didn't know if he knew what she was thinking about right then- she only prayed he didn't. The Madeline of 2 years ago would have wanted him to think about, would have wanted to talk about it endlessly and find out where all of that passion was for him now- or even if it was still there, but Madeline had grown up since then.

She'd learned to have more patience with people and situations, and while she truly did want to know every bit of his thoughts and reasoning concerning their last goodbye- she felt embarrassed at her outgoing behaviour. So, she was an adult about it and didn't bring it up… that and the fact that Madeline's grudge made it easier to avoid that topic due to the fact that they weren't speaking about anything altogether.

Sherlock suddenly straightened his shoulders pushing his chest out, stretching out his back muscles momentarily, lifting his arms. Madeline sighed. She had to concede, her back was killing her as well- Sherlock's bedroom floor was not ideal. And she also had to admit (but only to herself) that it took every ounce of her not to jump in his bed every night and spend the nights there.

But a grudge was a grudge and she would keep to it.

…_right? Of course I'll keep it. The Beast deserves it. But John is in the process of forgiving him, why can't I? He is and has been protecting me after all… _

Suddenly, Madeline felt exhausted. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders along with her extra 4 pounds…

She didn't want to fight him anymore.

_Oh boy, this just got awkward… _Madeline began to fidget with her fingers. Having had a grudge on him for so long- two weeks, how was she supposed to tell him she was done with it and now she wanted to get her hit in and move on? How did anyone do those sort of socially awkward things? By no chance was Madeline settled in or ok with what Sherlock had done- but the grudge bit was over for her.

The silence between them had also given her some time to think and she realized what he'd done was actually… sweet… **_and_** completely 100% dickish at the same time. A smile arose on Madeline's face as she thought, '_That sounds about right.'_

Suddenly, the plucking stopped.

Madeline looked up to find Sherlock staring at her with even more curiosity; no doubt attempting to deduce what that smile was about. She cleared her throat and opened her suddenly dry mouth looking for the right words.

"That painting is ancient."

_Wow. Smooth._

Sherlock scrunched his eyebrows together, his eyes squinting only for a moment, obviously wondering where she was going with this.

_This_ was the first thing she was saying to him after 2 weeks?

Madeline stood up and walked to the fireplace pointing to the painting of John above it, "You know, this one that I did? John had brought me a picture of The Doctor to paint and put above here to replace it. Although I doubt you'll agree with that now that you're, you know, alive and all." She turned back to him and was surprised to find his silent attention still on her.

Madeline might have been crazy but she swore (as far as she knew) this was the longest period of time Sherlock Holmes had kept his eyes on her. She began to grow fidgety under his gaze so she stood up on her tippy toes and raised her arms to take down the painting but could not. "Well that's strange." Madeline tried again but found that the painting was… wielded? To the wall? "That doesn't make sense." She mumbled. She observed the corners of the canvas and saw a clear solid white substance that was peaking out from the sides. "Someone glued it on…." She pondered to herself turning around, "Who would do-"

Her question was answered before she even finished asking it. When her eyes fell back on Sherlock he was no longer looking at her but was rather looking towards the kitchen as if she'd never spoken in the first place. He went back to plucking.

_Why would he glue my painting to the wall? _ Madeline felt a strange churning in her stomach at the question… but this wasn't ok. Or normal. Not the painting bit, no- the stomach bit.

_Oh Christ… _

_What the hell is happening?_

John's chair had turned upside down.

Out of the peripherals of her eyes the already maddening wallpaper began to twist and turn in shades of red and blue.

Clutching her stomach, Madeline heaved forward and closed her eyes, "oh my god…" She gasped.

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she moaned about ready to fall over before a pair of firm arms wrapped around her.

"Madeline?"

"ughhh" She moaned, sweat dripping down her face. Her olive skin was gone and replaced to be unbelievably pale, shudders ran through her body. It felt like her insides were on fire and her stomach was bubbling because of it.

Flashes of black and white were behind her lid.

This was all so sudden- how could this be happening?

She was laid softly on the floor coming in and out of consciousness, but not aware enough to get the gist that John had entered the flat.

Acidy vomit bubbled in her throat as she tried to keep it down, but knew it was inevitable. She coughed and coughed, feeling like knives were running up and down the inside of her throat a her eyes watered.

"Madeline!" Sherlock hissed shaking her rapidly. "Maddie! Maddie what did you do?"

With all of her strength that she could barely muster, Madeline opened her eyes half-lidded with eyebrows furrowed and looked up at Sherlock, who's face was only inches from her own. Her throat felt like it was sewn shut, but as she looked up at his wide bright eyes that were filled with worry and nostrils that were flared in anger- Madeline realized not even Sherlock Holmes knew what was happening to her and Madeline felt her hope of life slip from her even more.

"You…" she croaked. Even amongst all that was happening there was only one thing she could comprehend: "you call me Maddie?"

With that, her eyes closed, her head banged against the floor as her consciousness gave away.

* * *

**And we're back! We're in it now y'all!**

**Don't forget to follow this story (or me as an author) because your follow of the last story will not alert you for this one. **

**Comments are so lovely! I do really adore them and look over them as I write each new chapter, they keep me going. ****Please do comment! Lemme know you're still around : )**


	2. A Well Deserved Hit

**Ok, so literally- I feel like a total SHIT. I've been out of the country for the past 2 weeks, and that's exactly why I haven't been able to update. I could have updated before I left but there was so many editing and composition errors in this chapter, and I choose quality above quickness, so I decided against posting quick. **

**So again, here are my apologies, I do not believe you will have to wait that long for another chapter again. And if you do I'll make sure to let you know before-hand, I just naively thought I would have time to edit and post on my trip when I obviously didn't :/ **

**Anyways, I'm so glad you're all back for part 3! I would like to respond individually to you all because I'm so happy to see the old and the new readers: **

LiLiAnKa:** Oh yes, whatever the casual bits- they will be interweaved with a lot of intensity. Oh and I have many MANY things planned! Mwahahahahahahaaaaaaa!**

Lelah282:** Welcome new reader! I'm so glad you like it so much so far! And yes, it's always just a touch unrealistic to have the love burst out of just a couple of chapters, especially for Sherlock Holmes. It has to sneak up on him, catch him off guard- then of course he will deny it and the road only becomes more destructive then lol. And I have granted your request- this chapter is twice as long as the last, enjoy!**

CrosslitHeavens:** Oh yes, Madeline is all growed-up. She's an always-evolving character, which is so exciting! I think you'll love the great woman she becomes as the series goes on and I'm so happy you're enjoying her now! There's many tricks up my sleeve, the best is yet to come :)**

SuperwholockLover2993:** dskjhfhds yay! Original characters are the most nerve-wracking creations to put out there. I love that you love Madeline, cause I think we're all a little like her and I love her too!**

ai-cupidxbaggyjumpers:** oh why thank you! I am so honored that you enjoy my series so much! And I'm going to do my best to continue to keep it as one of the best Sherlock stories you've ever read!**

Lightan117:** Signed, sealed, delivered!**

HC:** Sorry for the long wait, but it shall not be so long again!**

Nippa:** John is made of kittens and jam and I just wanna cuddle him.**

Majestic Space Duck:** Thanks for commenting! I'm looking forward for you to read it :)**

Empress of Verace:** Yeah, agreed, Sherlock is the loveable asshole who needs to be punched sometimes.**

Midnight Valentina:** Aasghhhh Sorry this took so long, love! But I'm back!**

Amehhh:** Your wish is my command!**

* * *

He was there.

He'd been _there- _

At the cemetery.

That was the first thing on Madeline's mind as she woke up. She was unable to move her legs and she could barely open her heavy eyes. Her stomach felt like it had taken a good beating, like someone had been punching it repeatedly for hours. Moaning in pain as she attempted to move.

"Your stomach's been pumped."

Her head ached but she found enough strength to open her eyes coming face to face with John Watson sitting next to the bed.

"How?" Madeline croaked.

"I did it." John said softly with a light apologetic smile on his face, "Sherlock had one handy from a long time ago apparently."

"Why would he have one handy?"

John looked away for a moment. "How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?"

"Good point."

"What happened?"

"It's best that you rest, Madeline." John said, "And you'd best hear it from Sherlock, but I can tell you you're safe now."

Hearing her name come out of John's mouth shot a reminder through her, feeling a lurch in her stomach, "John, Sherlock was there when I visited his grave."

The little crease between his eyebrows became prominent, "what?"

"Remember, the first day we were back in London and I went- we went to the cemetery? He heard what I said when I was talking to his grave."

John's eyes scrunched before he licked his lips, "well, are you really surprised Madeline? I mean, he told me a couple of days ago that he was there when I visited his grave. He did say he was following us for a year. Does it matter though? It's Sherlock, should we be shocked by anything he does?" He paused a moment as he saw this was a bigger deal to Madeline than he was realizing. "…Why? How did you figure it out since apparently he didn't tell you?"

"Maddie…" she replied softly looking down at her hands, "He called me Maddie."

John took a moment, his curiosity getting the best of him. The relationship between Madeline and Sherlock had always been a mystery to him; he thought he'd figured it out 2 years ago when Madeline first lived there- only to then realize that he, John Watson: living in the same flat with both of them, was still permanently in the dark. Whatever the relationship between Madeline and Sherlock, it still remained a mystery to them.

"What did you say at his grave exactly, Madeline?"

Madeline bowed her head down, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "Things he didn't have the right to hear while alive. …I'm going to go back to sleep, John."

John nodded his head compassionately. He helped tuck her in and waited for her to close her eyes, "That's probably a good idea. Sherlock stepped out for a bit for some supplies from Bart's, but he'll be back soon enough."

With her eyes still closed, Madeline replied tiredly, "when he gets back you tell him I want to get my hit in."

A little smirk appeared on John's face, "don't blame you."

John placed a kiss on her forehead and held her hand as she slept.

* * *

**Hours later. **

_Wake up. _

_…Wake up. _

_…WAKE UP. _

Madeline jolted awake at the command. Her eyes finally focused, coming face to face with the sight of Sherlock Holmes messing with supplies on her the bedside table, or rather- _his _bedside table. She was still residing on Sherlock's bed, it seemed. Also, it seemed he was preoccupied with something much more important than her as he was refusing to make eye contact with her as he sorted a set of tubes.

"Why'd you wake me up?" Madeline spoke in a whisper. Not that she'd intentionally done so, but her throat was so dry that even breathing was a displeasing feeling. At least her stomach was feeling better.

Sherlock shoved a glass carelessly in her hand, drips of the liquid tumbling down its edges. "You want to get your hits in, right?" Finally he looked at her with cold blue eyes, "drink." He demanded.

Madeline downed the whole glass, letting an 'ahh' escape her mouth. The cold liquid felt amazing going down her throat. "Chocolate milk, good choice."

"_Shut up._" Sherlock hissed angrily. He snatched the glass out of her hand and threw it on the floor; Madeline was sure it was going to shower, but it bounced off of his area rug with force. Madeline's eyes widened in shock as she finally noticed that he was, in fact, pissed off.

Wait…

She was the one that was supposed to be pissed off.

"Excuse me?"

He roughly grabbed her arm and flipped it over so her forearm was exposed, "You heard me." Sherlock snarled, "do you have any idea how stupid you are? You wake up and that's the first think you think about? _Food_? You almost _died _you **moron**." He growled, "your wrap from earlier was poisoned; Sebastian Moran poisoned you without anyone knowing and only seconds later would you have been dead and the documents forever lost!-"

**_SMACK._**

Sherlock clutched his cheek in shock, his eyes wide… it had been a while since he'd been slapped.

His eyes fell back onto Madeline. Her eyes were glaring with fire, her lips pursed, arms crossed and nostrils flaring. He'd never seen her so visibly angry and had no idea she could hit so hard- his cheek was numb. Just as John's cuts and bruises had healed- Madeline had taken her shot.

"If you hadn't noticed- _Mister Holmes_, I'd already put two and two together." Madeline replied with every inch of attitude she could muster, "It's not that difficult to know what could have happened to be the reason to have my stomach pumped, but you're to busy looking up your own ass to notice that I do, in fact, have a brain! And it works quite well, while I have to say- _yours _seems to be lacking. I think you must've _actually_ hit your head after your _fake-fall_. When someone almost dies- for _real_, the last thing they want to focus on is the possibility that they might not be breathing. And for those of us who want to remain happy in life- unlike yourself, we try to focus on nice things after being at deaths door." She took in a shaky deep breath, "So no, that doesn't make me a moron, that makes me human."

**_SMACK! _**

"And **that's** for listening in to what I said at your grave you nosey insensitive little shit!"

By the end of her rant, Madeline was breathing heavy and felt one hundred million times better. Her chest was heaving; she paid Sherlock no attention a surge of energy flood through her veins. A light smile overtook her face as she looked around the room, proud of herself, "God that felt amazing."

It had been a while since she could let out her anger in a healthy way- and smacking the shit out of Sherlock was Madeline's version of a healthy way. Mainly because she knew he deserved every bit of it.

Sherlock ran his fingertips across his red swollen cheek, "I have two, you didn't have to hit the same one twice." He mumbled.

Their eyes met again; Sherlock wasn't protesting. This was beginning to frighten her.

His unresponsiveness was beyond out of character.

"You're a dick." Madeline stated bluntly. "You know that, right?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied simply, "I've been well informed."

The atmosphere of high energy had evened out to a soft balance due to Sherlock's unusual mellow response (or, lack there of), which had changed the mood of the room dramatically.

Madeline's eyes went straight to her hands; his stare was making her uncomfortable again. She felt good knowing she still had influence on his actions and behaviour, if only a little bit. In terms of Sherlock Holmes, that was a big deal.

Now it seemed he was waiting to proceed- or perhaps waiting for an indication that he could proceed without being smacked in the face.

_Was this the new Sherlock Holmes? Was that possible?_

"So what do you want?" Madeline mumbled.

"To take some blood samples." Sherlock replied, "If your arm isn't too weak at the moment."

"No, it's ok. I slapped you with my right hand but my left one is the one with the good veins in it."

"Oh, goodie." Sherlock replied, his eyebrows moving up with sarcasm as he began to get the needle ready.

Madeline presented her forearm to him as she watched him work. He didn't look up once at her as he placed a wet disinfecting wipe and rubbed it in small circles right above her vein.

"Why isn't John the one doing this? He's the doctor."

"He told me you wanted to '_beat the shit_' out of me, so I thought this might give you ample opportunity."

Sherlock removed the cloth and Madeline noticed he wasn't wearing gloves, "A-are you sure you're authorized to do this?"

Sherlock's bright eyes finally met Madeline's doubtful ones, "I know how to stick a needle in a vein properly," he slid it in her arm with minimal pain, "trust me."

Madeline's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion at his response. She watched Sherlock. He twisted the tube at the end of the needle and watched it fill with her blood. "Why did you have a stomach pump here?"

Madeline waited patiently for him to answer her, for him to even look up and acknowledge her, but all Sherlock did was change the tube.

"Is there a reason why you know how to stick a needle in properly?"

His silence and avoidance of eye contact gave her an answer. Madeline wouldn't have believed it before, nor would she have guessed such a thing about his past. And as he silently changed the tube for the third and final time- Madeline felt a burst of compassion fill her.

She knew all about addicts.

Madeline knew the history of one.

She'd helped Michael recover from alcohol addiction after their parents died. She'd watched him through all of his awful nights, all of the withdrawals, all of the cravings (that still plagued him everyday). Sherlock had certainly gone through the same things- probably more than once as he _owned _a stomach pump.

And he was such a seemingly miserable man that Madeline was certain whatever he'd gone through to get himself clean had been at least 10 times worse than what she'd seen Michael go through.

"Thank you for saving my life." Madeline said.

Sherlock took the last tube out and capped it, "I don't need your _pity_." He spat.

_"Compassion_ isn't pity." Madeline bit back quickly. Sherlock's eyebrow lifted in surprise at her quick retort, but still remained cold and reserved as he always was.

A long silence prolonged between them. Madeline looked away from the consulting detective as he pinched the needle out of her arm and threw it in the medical box. Sherlock grabbed the vials, got up, and walked out of his room slamming the door behind him.

That answered her question-

There was no new Sherlock.

There never was.

* * *

**The Next Day **

Madeline was laying flat on her back, the pillow now on the floor and her arms carelessly above her head entangled in her long straight brown hair with the sheets thrown off of her. She was wearing an atrocious nightgown (which she was sure Mrs. Hudson picked out for her) as her luggage had remained unpacked in the corner of Sherlock's room.

"Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo do do do do do do do…." She mumbled lightly in song. She flexed her ankles downwards en pointe, then up. Downwards, then up. "I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night…" she lightly sung the song, imitating her choreographed footwork in the air.

Madeline had been working on this particular piece for a very important audition coming up- before getting poisoned, that is. Not that she would get to audition now, Madeline hadn't practiced in weeks since the arrival of Sherlock Holmes and had therefore (by this point) gained a good 8 lbs and was out of practice. Yes, the movements came easy as she sliced her legs in the air imitating a jump in the choreography, but to be on the floor and do it for Madam Helga at the London Academy of Ballet seemed like a far away possibility now.

Madeline finished her "piece" and mocked a bow, '_Oh thank you, thank you so much…_' she mouthed to the ceiling. Grabbing a fake bouquet she began to wipe her dry eyes growing into her pretend play- until the handle of the door began to shake.

In a flash Madeline's heart jumped as she grabbed the blanket quickly and stuffed a pillow under her head- barely making it in time for Mycroft Holmes to walk in. She looked at him knowing that he knew she was doing something else as the blanket was just over her stomach and her body was in mid motion.

"What?" Madeline asked inconspicuously. Mycroft shut the door behind him and threw her a medium cool smile as he took a seat next to the bed. She sat up, her head against the backboard, hoping he wouldn't inquire as to what the hell she was just doing then.

"So…" he began, "Interesting couple of weeks, hm?"

"…That's one way of putting it."

"I suppose from now on home-cooked meals are in order."

"I guess."

Mycroft took a moment, "Madeline I'm not going to sugar coat it- this was entirely over our heads."

That answer gained Madeline's full attention as she looked at the eldest Holmes brother wide-eyed, "Well yeah but, I mean… do you think he _meant_ to kill me?"

Shrugging, "I don't know. Moriarty was clearer on his stance with you, as you were his biological sister and we know he had a passion for that information you could provide, therefore we knew there was a part of him that wanted to keep you alive for certain- at least until you found the papers. But Moran is… a bit grander, as far as grudge goes. Sherlock took Jim from him, and love grievances are much more a bitter-business to handle."

"You mean…" she began in disbelief, "Jim was gay?"

"Yes, I believe he was. Moran was his main…" Mycroft winkled his nose attempting to search for the correct words, "source of affection."

Madeline looked away for a moment lost in her own thoughts before mumbling, "2 gay brothers, imagine that."

"The point is, Moran wanted to send a message, and he did."

"And what message is that?"

"That you are just as unsafe here as you would be back in the states." Mycroft paused, "You see, I believe Moran doesn't care one bit about the information those documents possess, he is only going after them in order to fulfill Jim's life-pursuit. One last favour and gift for the man he loved." A cold unforgiving smirk adorned his face, "But that can only last so long before vengeance takes over. Your life hangs in the balance on a much thinner thread than it did with Moriarty."

"Oh, well- that's just great. Why didn't I just fake-kill myself like Sherlock to get it over with?" Madeline asked out-loud in half sarcasm.

"I don't think that would be hidden very well. It's impossible to do now, Moran would never go for it again."

"Hmph." Madeline mumbled fingering the sheets, Mycroft observed her closely for a moment or two, a curious glint in his eye. "So what do I do now? Just wait to either find these papers- that I'm pretty sure don't actually exist, or just wait for Moran to kill me?"

"I'm afraid that is precisely what we must do."

"Well then, nothing has changed over this past year, has it?"

"I wouldn't say that…" Mycroft began to twist his umbrella in his hand as he watched Madeline, she was unconsciously running her fingers along Sherlock's sheets. "Sherlock's back. But then of course, that must only be a disappointment for you."

Madeline gave Mycroft a close-lipped smile and continued to look away.

He pressed on. "After all, my brother is if nothing but a _drag_. Considering the icy-shoulder that I have deduced you've been giving him, and the fresh two bruises on his cheek- which I am quite certain are recently done from your hand, I get the sense that he bothers you as much as he bothers me."

"Well…" Madeline began before she could stop herself, "I wouldn't say he _bothers_ me exactly. He gets under my skin most of the time, that's for sure."

"Yes, but come on. He lied to you, Miss Smith. And apparently, according to John, he listened to your goodbye's at his grave. A personal thing- the man has no boundaries. He's been dishonest with you from the beginning-" Madeline now looked at the elder Holmes with disbelieving eyes at such a declaration, "He used you as bait and now- well, look at him now, all rusty from being 'dead' for a year. Could barely save your life. Only a moment longer would you be covered in a white cloth right now. Sherlock's lost his gift-"

"No, no he hasn't." She countered intently, "you're wrong. Even you said it was above your head, that no one saw it coming. And he's the one who pumped my stomach and saved me."

"Yes, but how many moments of your life do you want to risk in the hands of Sherlock Holmes?" his eyes squinting in question. "He doesn't care for you, you know.

"…I'm not saying he's perfect, he's not, and he's lied to me so many times but he does that to everyone." Madeline took a deep breath and looked away, lost in her own thoughts. "And yeah, maybe he's the biggest asshole I've ever met, but he's clever." Finally Madeline shrugged once and rolled her eyes, "I do want to slap his face off 99% of the time and the other 1% of the time I want to knee him in the crotch, but then again I feel like everyone does when they meet him. But I don't think he's a fraud in the least bit, and I think if there's ever a chance that I might live- it'll be because of him."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his mouth downturned as he continued to stare at the mid-twenties girl, "I thought so." He mumbled standing up.

"Wait…." Madeline began worriedly, "thought what?"

"I just need to go have a little chat with my brother… Have a good night Miss Smith, you should be up and ready to be about by tomorrow." He lifted his umbrella and observed it, "You want to put your life in Sherlock Holmes hands? Then that's your burden and it will have its consequences," He glanced at Madeline, placing his umbrella on the hardwood floor with a light tap, "And by the way…" Mycroft said casually, "you're an appallingly bad singer."

With that, he closed the door behind him, without question to have a word or two with his baby brother.

* * *

**Yes! Hope you all enjoyed! This was a longer chapter for your viewing pleasure! **

**Comments are lovely and I love them so much- and it's so easy! The box is right down there. See? Please do! **

**A thousand hugs sent all of your ways! **


	3. What May Never Come to Be

**Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter! I've decided to answer you all individually cause I'm crazy for your comments: **

**Empress of Verace: Yes, Mycroft is unfortunately kind of a bitch. Also, Madeline and Sherlock make me squirm as well. When will they get their freaking act together, hm?**

**Lightan117: Why yes I will!**

**Amehhh: Mycroft's my sassy slut. And yes, now I can tell my mom I'm engaged so she can get off my back about not having a significant other.**

**Nippa : I'm afraid this isn't the end of the road for Mycroft's manipulations! *Hugs back***

**Midnight Valentina: Aww shucks. *blushes* Yes I wanted to bring in Sherlock's past the way it's sort of done on the show, subtly but not the deciding factor in his character or story, just a little addition to his past we know so little about, and who knows his past might come back to ha- Yeah, I'm gunna stop before I spoil :)**

**Twiles: DON'T DIE! And yes Sherlock has changed, and he is in the process of changing, all good comes with bad and all bad comes with good… that's all I can really say for now.**

**Guest: I shall.**

**LaughsLikeGirl: The feels are important because I will take them from you multiply them and then give them back. I am not sorry.**

**Sher'sgirl : I love you too bb don't worry you just tell your husband that what you and I have is real. Also, I'm so glad this is helping you get through until season 3- that was my _exact _intent in starting this fanfiction series. I plan to have it all wrapped up and finished before season 3 starts :)**

And now, without further ado….

* * *

**5 Days Later.**

**The Unconventionalists**.

Finally, with enough strength to walk, Madeline got out of bed and took a long overdue shower. She let the water cascade over her body. Looking down Madeline ran her fingers along her now prominent rib-cage. All that weight she'd gained from before was all gone and then some. She'd barely remembered eating for the past week. It was entirely out of character but something about having the food sucked out of your stomach with a vacuum tube made her unable to swallow anything down thereafter. Madeline had lost a good 15 lbs and was looking frighteningly thin, even her muscles felt unbearably weak.

After drying herself off and changing into her own clothes, Madeline then noticed the strange quietness that had enveloped 221B. Even during her bedridden week, John and Sherlock would always be bellowing about either with Mrs. Hudson or with each other regarding some case or another, and if not then- then it was Sherlock's violin playing. But for the first time since 221B was up and running, it had never been this quiet.

With a look of curious confusion on her face, Madeline inched her way out of the bath and into the living room, her clothes lightly clinging to her from the steam of the shower. There was John sitting at the table in a hissing fight with Sherlock who was standing behind the kitchen counter with a knife in his hand and goggles on. Obviously they were trying to keep quiet as both seemed to be in the argument quite deep.

"Sherlock, don't be a dunce!" was all Madeline could make-out until John and Sherlock both turned to see her standing. John saw her and smiled, "Madeline! You're up! How are you feeling?"

Just as Madeline was going to open her mouth to answer, Sherlock interjected, "Lost a considerable amount of weight. Clearly she is looking quite frail and weak. Based on her half-lidded eyes I'd say she had a light throbbing in her head and a shakiness in her unused muscles. The best thing now is to eat." He pushed the plate that was in front of him forward. On it sat a horrendously messy sandwich. "Eat." He demanded.

Madeline pointed at it, "What's that?"

"Your sad-day sandwich." Sherlock replied astonished, "I must've gotten it right: Cinnamon sugar, syrup and ice cream between a French baguette. Basically diabetes between a bun. Does that sound right to you, John?"

John nodded, "Sounds right to me."

Madeline took a moment of silence as she stared at the sandwich, "You…" She cleared her throat and looked up at Sherlock who remained standing with his goggles on and the knife in his hand (which she just noticed had syrup all over it rather than blood for a change), "You stored how to make my sad-day sandwich in your mind palace?"

Sherlock immediately looked uncomfortable as he threw the knife in the sink, "thought it might come in handy." He mumbled.

"Why are you wearing goggles to make it?"

"This is Sherlock's first adventure in cooking," John said with a teasing smile on his face, "I think he thought precautions were necessary."

Immediately Sherlock ripped the goggles off his face and stood awkwardly with his hands behind his back, his eyes remaining on the sandwich that stood between him and Madeline. She looked back and forth between the melting sandwich and the consulting detective- was this his version of an apology?

"Oh are you going to eat it or not?" Sherlock bellowed in desperation cutting through the unbearable silence, throwing the towel that was in his hands harshly on the table, Madeline jumped slightly at this action.

"Oh, yeah! Yes, of course!" Pulling out the chair and sliding right in Madeline didn't want to disappoint him- clearly he'd put a lot of work in it.

"Took him 20 minutes to make that if you can believe it-"

"Shut up, John." Sherlock spat as his foot bounced up and down in slight anxiety.

"He's been practicing all morning-"

"**_Shut up,_ John.**"

Both men glared at each other momentarily before changing their attentions.

Sherlock and John watched in silence as Madeline took a seat before the plate of food. Slowly she picked up the sandwich and took a bite of it. Clearly, Sherlock had exactly portioned the cinnamon to the syrup to the ice cream. 2 parts ice cream, 1 part syrup, 1/2 part cinnamon. The baguette was lightly toasted on the outside and soft on the inside. 20 minutes, indeed.

As Madeline chewed, immediately being reminded of how much she loved food and mentally scolding herself for wasting 5 perfectly good days of eating away, she wondered- was this Sherlock's way of apologizing for everything?

His "death"? His cemetery visit? His inability to almost catching Moran from poisoning her?

Most importantly- was it enough to forgive him with?

A bit of ice-cream dripped down her chin.

"I'll get it." Sherlock said quickly grabbing the napkin he'd had ready beside him; he handed it to Madeline without looking at her. John watched as she grabbed it and stared at the napkin for an unusually long time.

What John didn't know was that on that napkin, scrawled out in messy black ink with sticky swipes of syrup across it blurring the words written with apology was:

'_I'm sorry._'

This _was_ his way of apologizing.

…and it was enough.

It was the nicest gesture, and it had come from Sherlock Holmes. She was certain he'd never done anything like this before, and that drove her heart to tense and twist as she looked down at those two words, the shaking of her hands threatening to give her away.

Madeline didn't bother to wipe her face with said napkin. Instead she picked up (what she thought was) a kitchen towel off the counter, and used that to wipe her chin instead.

"Hey, that's my shirt." John said to deaf ears.

Madeline reached into her back pocket and pulled out a black vial. Looking up at the man, she saw he was looking back at her with slight worry in his face. Madeline handed him the vial which he accepted with confusion. "What's this?"

"Inside that is extra little bits of things that John pumped out of me, you know like parts of the linings of my stomach, I'm sure mixed in with bacteria and remnants of the worst possible eater in the world..." Sherlock's eyes widened at her, his eyebrows coming together in a touched shock, "You can have them."

And this was Madeline's way of saying, '_you're forgiven_.'

It was a peace-offering gift that was perfect for Sherlock Holmes.

John's eyebrows came together is confusion at the exchange as he looked between the both of them. Sherlock ran his fingers over the black tube as though it were treasure, "I'll be microwaving these tonight."

This time John's chin and cheeks scrunched in as well as he watched both of them stare at each other in silent understanding, "Hamish."

And just like that, with John's wit- the moment was gone. Thankfully so, in John's case.

Immediately Sherlock's eyes rolled as he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, setting the vial on the table and picking up the newspaper to read. Madeline's eyes moved to rest on John in confusion as she slipped the napkin into her pocket, "Who's Hamish?"

* * *

**Madeline's Change **

Later that day Madeline took a trip to the ballet studio which she'd missed a week of classes at. She knew she should have been more concerned with that, but all she could think of was that Sherlock hadn't called her 'Maddie' since her near death. She supposed it was a one time thing- an accident, maybe? Either way, it had stopped. Also, since the apology that morning, he'd once more grown cold and kept his distance. At first she thought it may have been just her imagination, but it was nothing of the sort.

Once she'd ate the sandwich and he'd microwaved the pieces of from her stomach, life had gone back to normal at 221B. Although Madeline had hoped the apologies would further their… well, whatever their relationship was, but it had just been a gateway to bring their relationship back to what it had been before Sherlock's death.

Madeline couldn't help but wonder why.

"Ah, Miss Smith." Madam Helga broke Madeline out of her thoughts as she approached her, the class beginning their stretches behind her, "you've been away this past week.

"Yes, I got ill, I'm afraid."

"So I heard." Madeline's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Some handsome asshole walked in here a couple of days ago to let me know." A little smirk couldn't help its way onto Madeline's face, Helga observed it, "quite surprising though, I didn't know that you knew the great consulting detective."

"I do."

"Hm. Well, you're a week behind, but that won't work for you anymore since you're out of my class."

The news hit her like a big shock-wave, Madeline's face fell, "What?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to work on you separately. …The London Ballet Company is looking for a sort of freelance soloist to give them a fresh face that pops up every once in a while during some of their mainstage shows. The audition is next week, that gives us 7 days exactly to get you going, that is… if you're up for this?"

"Uh…." Her jaw was agape. Helga rolled her eyes, crossing her arms impatiently for the young American girl, "Yes, yes I would!"

"Good, we start tomorrow then. Strict lessons. 8 hours a day. Just me and you. Don't be late."

And with that, Madam Helga walked away to her class leaving her student astonished.

* * *

As Madeline walked down the busy London street, numerous people passing by her and running into her, she was lost in her own thoughts. What she'd thought would never happen for her, what she'd thought she was well past the possibility of achieving was a possibility again.

Maybe her dreams weren't lost?

"_Your quickness to give in to failure is a weakness in your character_."

The reminder of the beast's words from 2 years ago made her wince in remembrance. Perhaps he'd been right then. 2 years ago Madeline Smith had grown accustomed to failure, mainly because she had to resign herself to it in order to help others. But now, having nearly died and knowingly staring death in the face at all times, it looming over her head as an impending doom that could reveal itself at any given moment- the fear of fight to stay away from failure was gone.

Resigned to failure Madeline Smith was no more.

Looking up she found herself in front of the small local art gallery. There were only 2 things Madeline thought she'd have to do today, the first at the ballet was achieved, but the trip to Bart's would be postponed because in the gallery she found a third trip.

As she walked into the gallery, all of the remnants of the fear, the fear of who she was 2 years ago with no identity, no family left, no future ahead of her gave way to the impending death that stood at her doorstep; the growth in knowing that her time was all too short and while perhaps she might die without the love of the one she loved (nor may he ever even admit to such a thing)- she would do well to love herself. To succeed, to do for herself first for the first time in her life.

* * *

**Molly Hooper's Good Fortune. **

Molly sat with a frown on her face. Slickly the scalpel sunk through the flesh of the dead man.

It had been 2 weeks since Sherlock Holmes had moved out of her flat with no word back since. Mycroft had sent her a considerably large check for all of her help, but that had done nothing to soften the ache in her chest.

The consulting detective had been a silent guest. Rarely spoke, rarely was there in fact. But a year of knowing that Sherlock Holmes was sleeping on your couch only yards away from you would do something else to a woman. She'd fantasized every night about him walking into her room at 2 in the morning and crawl into bed with her. He didn't even necessarily have to kiss her- just the thought of Sherlock Holmes' body next to hers sent shivers up Molly's spine.

"Shit." She hissed, her hand was shaking now. Cutting up the body would just have to wait for a bit now. Sighing she threw the razor on the metal pallet and took off her gloves, stretching her fingers, willing them to stop shaking.

"Are you ok?"

Quickly Molly looked up with a light gasp to see none other than Madeline Smith standing on the other side of the body.

"Excuse me?"

"I said are you ok?"

"No, I heard what you said, I meant what are you doing here?"

Madeline paused for a moment, she shouldn't have been surprised. Of course Molly Hooper hated her guts- why wouldn't she? The pathologist was obviously in love with Sherlock Holmes, and obviously Madeline living with him did not do much to turn Molly's good graces towards her.

"I… uhm…" Madeline attempted to look for the right wording. Molly observed the girl, she looked unusually skinny- almost unattractively so, Molly couldn't help but feel a shameful bolt of happiness at this. It was then she noticed the ballet slippers hanging from her pack, and immediately the drop in self-esteem hit Molly. She could never be so graceful. "Listen, Molly," Madeline said bluntly no longer able to find maneuvering words, knocking the pathologist out of her thoughts, "I know you're in love with Sherlock Holmes. And that's fine but I don't want to see you unhappy-"

"No, you're just trying to push me aside so you can get to him."

This time Madeline looked up at Molly with shock etched all over her face, "Molly… I would never do that." She said, "I _won't_ get to him. You won't get to him. I don't think any girl will get to him- the closest being Mrs. Hudson. That's what I'm saying. You have to believe that there is no part of me that honestly believes I'll be with him. Because I don't. And since I left him 2 years ago, that's when I really knew, no matter what had happened. He opens up then he slams shut, far too quick for anyone to get in there."

Both women stood silent before Molly cleared her throat, "is that what you're here to tell me?"

"…No. I'm here to tell you that I realized what a waste of life it is to sit around and wonder about someone else when we could be wondering about ourselves. It's one thing to love and be loved in return but when it's so one-sided because the man doesn't have the capacity to love- sometimes we have to take those emotions and attempt to transfer it to ourselves or to find someone else to give it to."

"…and what did you choose?" Molly asked softly.

"Oh, I chose myself." Madeline smiled lightly, "I'm sure you know about the attempt on my life some days ago, I have a feeling that I don't have too much time left. No need to try and find someone else, so I chose me. But you Molly, you're a great girl. I know that Sherlock cares so deeply about you, he went to you over everyone else to get help, and if you want to keep trying with him- I'll push him towards you every way I can. But if you want to try someone new… I can help you with that as well."

Molly slowly looked up at Madeline, "Why are you doing this? Helping me so much?"

"Because I think you're a really nice person… and why do women like Irene Adler get say over their futures and who they're with while we sit around?"

Molly smiled for the first time in weeks, "So, who's this other guy you want to set me up with?"

"Well," Madeline began, "You probably have heard of him, he works here- do you know Doctor Jack?"

* * *

**5 days ago. **

**Sherlock's Reality. **

Sherlock stood with unshakable concentration as he stood in the kitchen. His hand was perfectly poised, the knife certain in his hand. Slowly he sliced through the middle. The blade coming into hard contact at first but then it eventually slid right through rather nicely.

"Goodness, don't tell me you've become so desperate as to take up the culinary arts." Mycroft said shutting Sherlock's bedroom door behind him. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson can make her up something."

At the sound of Mycroft's loud voice slicing through the quietness of the flat, Sherlock's hand shook, therefore making him accidentally let the knife falter and dip down in the bread- the cut down the middle, no longer perfectly parallel.

"Dammit, Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted. He pulled the knife out of the French bread and threw it in the garbage can along with what seemed like other loafs lied there too. Sherlock snapped the goggles off of his face and threw them down on the table, "now that you're done harassing Madeline I know you feel it's necessary to latch on to me, but I really don't need it."

Mycroft pulled up a chair sitting across from Sherlock at the table, "Oh I'm afraid you do. Her life just had an attempt on it. None of us saw it coming-"

"So?" Sherlock replied coldly, "You replace me with someone who cares. All I need are those documents, dead or alive. All of my problems are solved."

"Yes, but the case isn't. And you know you want this case to find those papers, even you want to see what's in them." Mycroft paused before adding, "And I know you want _her_."

Many moments of silence passed between the brothers. Sherlock's eyes widened as his brows furrowed, "_Say that again_?"

"Don't play the fool Sherlock, it doesn't suit you." Mycroft ran his fingers alone the unclean table, rubbing them together distastefully at the feel of the grime between them, "Moran's taken some time away for now, that much is clear. Your nonchalance whether she lives or dies will be long overdue soon enough. I'm sure _Maddie _will be able to find her own way to death without your carelessness-"

"_Madeline_." Sherlock corrected angrily.

Mycroft stood up, "and these are the words of a man who would rather see her dead and all of his problems solved? The one that cares less for her and more for a case?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Fixing his gloves Mycroft walked to the door leading to the stairs and paused, "I'm afraid I do. She's put her trust in you once more. Foolishly enough. Either she'll live and survive without you around or she'll die in your arms. Now you and I both know the latter is more likely." Mycroft took one last look at his younger brother who was now looking at him with a glare of utter hatred and disgust on his face. "You're so blinded by your own arrogance that you fail to see the dangerous position you've put both of yourselves in."

"What position is that? You speak as though something has happened, as though something has taken place-"

"Oh no, I still know you're as innocent as the day you were born-" Sherlock growled as Mycroft smiled lightly, "But that's where this is all certainly headed isn't it?"

Between his teeth Sherlock spat, "I have no relationship with Madeline Smith. There isn't, and there won't be._ That_ is what is certain." He took a deep breath, "I just have to make some half-assed apology to get her back in my good graces so we may continue this disastrous case. That is all. All you have to do is make sure she's watched." Sherlock's voice was unusually calm and low, indicating he was on the edge, "I want double the amount of security on her. Tell your men to _do their job_ and you make sure to do yours. Leave the rest up to me."

Mycroft nodded fixing on his glove, "very well, it's done." He paused a moment and grabbed his umbrella, giving his brother a sad sigh, "I hope what you've just said is true for you Sherlock, this is a dangerous game we're all playing now and if the truth is otherwise than what you said, well… you know you'll be the death of her, Sherlock Holmes, and _that _will be the tragedy."

Mycroft Holmes walked out of 221B, his words staying behind.

* * *

** Uh oh. What happens when your insides begin to evolve but your brain doesn't want to let them? **

**Answer: **

**Nah, I'll wait to tell you. **

**Comments are my electrolytes. **


	4. Self Preservation

**My apologies for the long wait but there _is_ a reason. Its taken so long because I've written this chapter and the next chapter together (but they'll be posted separately), they're sort of like a set regarding a specific… _theme_, we'll call it :) It was necessary to keep the same tension going and not lose it between both chapters. There will be a similar formatting change just in the introduction just for them as well. **

**For all of you who have been so antsy recently... this is for you. **

**And as usual, I'd like to thank all of you that commented: **

**Loves of my life these next two chapters are for all of you who have stuck through and have let me know your thoughts: Amehhh, Wilmott, Empress of Verace , Nippa, Crosslit Heavens, sailormajinmoon, LLPottle, LiLiAnKa, and valentina.  
**

* * *

_My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;_

_Coral is far more red than her lips' red; _

_If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; _

_If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. _

_I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, _

_But no such roses see I in her cheeks; _

_And in some perfumes is there more delight _

_Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. _

_I love to hear her speak, yet well I know _

_That music hath a far more pleasing sound; _

_I grant I never saw a goddess go; _

_My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:_

_-And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare_

_-As any she belied with false compare._

~ **Sonnet 130, Shakespeare. **

* * *

It was 11pm when Madeline Smith sat in John Watson's comfy chair reading over Sherlock's marked book of Shakespeare's sonnets when Sherlock and John banged their way up the stairs of 221b. Shouts echoed in the flat as their heated argument raged on. Only seconds later did both men enter the living room, blood dripping all over the floor in their wake.

"Jesus!" Madeline exclaimed jumping off the couch throwing the book off to the side. She quickly ran to both men, catching Sherlock before he fell on the floor out of exhaustion and possibly blood loss. "What the hell happened?"

"He's all yours, Madeline." John said bitterly, throwing Sherlock on the couch carelessly. The consulting detective landed with an '_oomf!' _but Madeline was surprised to see the doctor didn't care.

"Fine! Leave!" Sherlock shouted in pain at John, "I don't need you!"

John shook his head, his temples throbbing, and walked back to the door, seething with anger. Madeline's arm immediately grabbed his and stopped him, turning him around to face her before he could take off, "John, what's going on?"

"The great soldier has lost his bravery, it seems." Sherlock slurred looking at them, blood dripping from the gash on his chest. He'd turned over onto his back. Sherlock's eyes were bright and half lidded, sweat forming on his forehead and his skin paler than usual.

"John, are you hurt?" Madeline inquired turning back to John.

"Oh," The consulting detective laughed mocking, "naturally you ask about the good doctor! Forget about me, I'm only bleeding."

John gave one last glare to Sherlock and indicated for Madeline to follow him downstairs. Ignoring the moans and curses from Sherlock, the pair made their way to the bottom until reaching the front door of 221b. John turned to Madeline with an exhausted face the anger released from his face- it seemed the latter was always an easy thing to let go of when regarding Sherlock Holmes, "He's gone bloody mad."

"What do you mean? More than usual?"

"He jumped in front of a car and nearly got himself ran over, that gash on his chest is from the window that shattered."

"Wait, I don't get it- I thought you were both out on a case?" Madeline inquired confused, "The old lady's locket was stolen, I thought?"

"It was," John said, his temper was rising again as he began breathing heavily, "and we solved it only hours ago, found it for her, brought it to her- turned out to be connected to one of the most organized drug rings in London which you'd think Sherlock would be happy about to _not_ throw himself in front of a moving car- but there you go."

"…I don't understand why he's upset with you, though." Madeline added softly. John closed his eyes and looked away.

"Neither do I." He replied in a whisper, "but I'll tell you what, watching him nearly get killed again then have him taunt me about it was not what I had in mind. I can't stay here tonight Madeline, I can't."

She nodded and wrapped her arms around John who returned her hug tightly. Madeline could feel his body lightly tremble beneath her palms. "I understand John…" When they pulled away John cleared his throat.

"I took a look at it from afar, it seems alright. Just make sure to clean the gash properly and put some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. He won't need stiches, just bandage it up."

"Ok." Madeline nodded. They paused a moment, "You know John, I don't know why he did what he did just then, you know- nearly getting run over, but I think maybe he's reacting this way towards you _maybe _because he'd rather see you angry at him than upset like the way you were after the fall?"

John shrugged and shook his head, "I don't know Madeline. I'm not going to stick around to find out. Not tonight at least. I'll be staying at a nearby motel. Phone me if it gets bad, alright?"

Madeline nodded and placed a kiss on John's cheek, "Ok, I will. Goodnight John."

"Goodnight love." John Watson gave her a last attempt at a closed mouth smile, but instead wound up swallowing it, unable to hide the sadness and anger as he closed the door behind him.

Madeline took a moment of silence to herself, she could hear Sherlock breathing heavily upstairs. Her heart went out for John, and almost cursed the man who was upstairs an inch from passing out- it should be mentioned, rather obnoxiously.

"I'm bleeding all over the bloody floor incase you're wondering!" Sherlock shouted, "Let's hope it doesn't stain the couch."

* * *

**Minutes Later.**

Madeline sat on the table in front of the couch with a basin of water next to her. She squeezed the cloth over it, releasing all of the excess water. Sherlock lay on the couch with his bloody ripped up shirt discarded, his chest exposed towards the warm fire. The good news was the gash was not as bad as it seemed at first, once most of the blood was cleaned there wasn't much to it, the bad news was Madeline had no idea how to properly fix a glass wound.

Sherlock stared at her from under his half lidded eyes, not releasing their intense observation of her in absolute silence as Madeline bit her bottom lip, attempting to concentrate as she ran the towel over his wound again.

"You don't know what your doing." Sherlock mumbled; his low deep voice vibrating throughout his chest, she could feel it against her hand. Madeline sighed and didn't dare look at his face; she was trying to start a new chapter in her life, one with much less Sherlock Holmes.

He was making this impossible so far.

"I've never had to clean glass wounds before but you really upset John so you'll have to deal with the consequences." Madeline said, putting the cloth down she finally looked at his face which remained stoic, "Why did you do it?"

"Why not?"

Staring at him for a moment, Madeline knew he was full of it. He was attempting to challenge her to start an argument; she wasn't going to give in. Instead, Madeline continued on with her work. She picked up the hydrogen peroxide and stared at the bottle. "…this doesn't seem right for a glass wound." She mumbled to herself.

Sherlock still gave no instruction even though she knew that he knew precisely what to do. And she certainly was not going to ask for any help. If he wanted to be a stubborn shit, so could she.

"I wanted to feel something." Sherlock mumbled suddenly letting out a deep breath, closing his eyes.

Madeline looked up at him shocked; not just for him answering her but for answering her so… honestly. Sherlock stared at her with a question on his face, a daring look in his eye- waiting for her to lecture him, to yell at him- to judge him. He knew Madeline well enough to know she wouldn't, yet he still waited for her to. Perhaps he'd grown accustomed to such reactions and was preparing himself for it from her. But in her true form- Madeline did no such thing, only replying softly, "Why would you do that?" A pause, "…Don't you feel _anything_ anymore?"

For what seemed like minutes, Sherlock stared at her in silence. His bright green blue eyes observing her. He wasn't going to answer her question.

Madeline shrugged and grabbed a bar of soap, rubbing the wet cloth on it. "What are you doing?" Sherlock asked quickly, the subtle silence quickly breaking in lieu of his sudden worry. Madeline looked up at him with confused eyes.

"I'm cleaning it. I have no idea where you keep anything in here anymore, everything's been moved. And it's a glass wound so the peroxide will be too strong on it, so I'm using something softer like this soap bar to just get rid of the bacteria… right?"

Sherlock sighed and laid back not mentioning a thing or two, "Right." He hissed and winced it pain at the immensely uncomfortable dry burning feeling of the soap against his open wound, "You know," He breathed, "I'd have thought you'd know how to do these things properly having done ballet for so long."

"It's usually muscle sprains, rarely cuts and never glass cuts. I've never really been cut by glass."

"Obviously

"Shut up, I'm not the one who jumped in front of a car in front of his traumatized best friend like an asshole _and_ I'm not a medic; this is a deep wound, so unless you want to help me out a little and tell me what to use- then you have no say."

Sherlock didn't reply, he only laid back and closed his eyes enduring the pain. He let out a sigh of relief as she ran warm water across his wound he mumbled, "fortitudine vincimus."

Madeline smiled and grabbed the gauze placing it atop his wound replying, "Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit."

All Madeline saw in that moment she spoke and was focusing on gauzing his wound, was Sherlock's large hand coming from his chest to grasp at her wrist with immense force. She gasped and dropped the gauze on the floor, her wide eyes coming to look up at Sherlock who seemed to be fully alert all of a sudden.

"You speak Latin." It wasn't a question- it was a deman, yet she still felt the need to answer utterly confused.

"…Yes."

"You grew up in a small town in Colorado." Again, not a question, his eyes squinted and burned as they stared at her own intensely- filled with questions, "they wouldn't be teaching Latin in the schools."

"No, I was taught it when I was a kid, my parents brought in a tutor."

"Now why would they do that?" Sherlock asked mumbling to himself yet still looking at her. She swallowed dryly and looked away for a moment, growing nervous under his eyes.

Madeline shrugged, "I don't know, Michael learned Spanish. Though he's still awful at it."

"Interesting." Sherlock mumbled. Then suddenly, with no indication why, he released Madeline's wrist casually and laid back again, both of his hands intertwined on his chest and re-closing his eyes as though nothing strange had just happened. He seemed almost pleased with himself.

"Oookayyy." Madeline drawled out raising her eyebrows, grabbing the gauze one more, just as she was going to place it on his chest she paused, her breath catching in her throat.

It was then, after the initial adrenaline went away, after all of Sherlock's distracting conversations went away that she realized… he was shirtless. Not that he hadn't been shirtless before, almost every morning he'd come prancing out of his room in nothing but a sheet, but this time he was… close. He was laying in front of her. And his eyes were closed.

She could see the crevices of every one of his muscles and the little trail of hair that led downwards from his bellybutton. A strange urge to rack her nails hard over his solid tight chest made her spine tingle. Madeline bit her lip and scolded herself, forcing her eyes to look away- she couldn't think of him like that… she was trying a life in which he wasn't a part of it other than in the sense of 'colleague.'

"Any day now." Sherlock mumbled, his chest vibrating with his deep voice.

Madeline blushed and scolded herself once more for acting and thinking so silly. Placing the gauze over the gash, she began to nervously look around for the medical tape, painfully aware that her hand lay on his stomach. "Uhm, do you know where I put the medical tape?"

Sherlock's eyes opened and looked at her as he spoke sarcastically, "What, not going to use duct tape?"

"Ha ha ha," She falsely laughed doing her best to hold back her real one, she had to admit the man was funny when he wanted to be. "No, I brought the medical tape, where is it?"

"I don't know."

Madeline continued to look around her, unable to place it anywhere, "This is ridiculous, it was right here next to me."

"Well," Sherlock replied seemingly bored, uninterested and slowly losing his patience, "why don't you get that medical-wrapping-tape, it's in the loo."

Madeline's eyes brightened happily, "Great idea!" And without thinking she grabbed his hand and placed it atop of the gauze on his chest, "You wait here. Don't move it."

She could hear him sigh as she got up and practically jete-ed her way to the loo in quickness. Much to her surprise when Madeline reached the couch, Sherlock was still laying there just as she'd left him- just as she'd asked. Clearing her throat she took a seat on the couch next to his legs, facing him he looked down at her from beneath his lashes. She undid a bit of wrapping and it dawned on her.

Madeline cleared her throat, realizing now what she'd have to do, "Uhm, I-… I got it." She took the gauze from his hand and held it in place, her other hand bringing the tape to it. The wound was on his right side, right above and next to his belly button. She began to unravel the tape around the front of his flat stomach, she could see his muscles flex beneath as she reached his left side.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and looked at him, waiting for him to move- but he just stared. "Could you…" Madeline began, clearing her throat once more, "could you lift, please?"

Sherlock lifted his hips. Madeline pulled the bandage-wrapping around his back. She could feel the warmness radiate off of it, as his hip bones rubbed softly against her forearms, she found herself out of breath. Quickly she wrapped the bandage tape around god knows how many times until she realized the roll was almost out and there was now a large knot of it wrapped around the wound many more times than needed.

Madeline smiled shyly for a moment putting the tape down and grabbing the scissors, with her free hand she placed it atop his belly lightly, "You can go…" _shit why did I just put my hand there! _"…down, now."

Quickly she removed her hand and cut the tape, all the while not staring up at him- she refused to do so. Madeline tucked the piece under the wrapping tightly. She made sure all of the gauze was covered nicely and it was then she realized not only had she not moved her hand, but she had unconsciously placed it atop the wrapping.

Madeline felt her face begin to burn. Her blood suddenly warm, her breath far too loud.

The room had stood still, time had slowed down- the fire was ever so warm.

Her mind was blank and filled with clouds as she ran her fingers lightly across the tape. She could hear his breathing as tight stomach lifted up and down. Glancing at the magnificent happy trail, Madeline placed her first finger on it- swearing she could feel the muscles beneath her finger tremble.

This was a breaking point- this breaking point of a tension that could no longer be helped any longer.

Her fingers spread, slowly separating and moving away from her palm, up- up above the wrapping right on his midsection her fingers caressed his soft warm skin. Hooking them beneath the bandage, the front of her nails scratched only for at his belly before unhooking them, lying her palm flat against his belly button. Her thumb caressing the shadow in the indent of the 1/2 of a "V" formed by his hip-bones.

There was no denial- as it could no longer be served. The pressure had built and built until it was now being slowly broken- bit by bit; its foundations of denial and resistance giving way to the submission of utter human chemistry. The _must _of a bond that formed beneath the surface for 2 years through life and death.

She could have closed her eyes and dreamed about feeling him beneath her hand and feigned in disappointment for the reality because the dreams were so vivid in their perfection, but the incessant rumble in her chest, the loud beating of Madeline's heart, the shaking of her fingers, the bite on her lip that nearly drew blood and the clouds that filled her head- they all told her otherwise.

_Could this be real? …Or am I dreaming again?_

A loud breathy sigh released from Sherlock unconsciously brought Madeline's eyes to look at his own. She'd been so certain he would have a look of confusion on his face- perhaps a look of boredom or pity; but when she looked up at his face- it told another story entirely.

His lips had clearly just been licked and were lightly reddened and parted, his chest was breathing a little heavier, all of that was easily dealt with but his eyes… his eyes were no longer bright. Sherlock's eyes were dark, his pupil taking over nearly every inch of blue and green that had once existed only moments ago, now replaced with a dark brown- almost black heavily lidded stare that relentlessly was attached to remain on Madeline's flushed face.

Finally meeting his eyesight nearly frightened her as she found so much fire there, a fire like she'd never seen before in a person. Quickly she removed her hand from his chest but gasped when he grabbed it himself by her wrist, his large hand encompassing it entirely with room to spare. He refused to allow his eyes to be removed from her own, imprisoning them in his intense stare.

Sherlock, just as much as Madeline, had no sense of consequence or understanding as to what was happening. His mind remained like a shot that wouldn't stop, that wasn't hitting anything- only continuing its maddening journey forward- unable to comprehend, only knowing that whatever this was- Sherlock Holmes didn't want it to stop.

It was in noticing Sherlock's… _desire_, that Madeline was knocked back into a harsh cold reality.

This was no dream.

_What had she just done? _

Her face began to burn as she closed her eyes, this time for a very different reason. The inability to tell of Sherlock's possible manipulations didn't help the situation, as she scolded herself for being unable to walk away from this one man who would never be able to return all that she could give.

He was a means to her end, she was a means to his. She'd sworn nothing would happen beyond the case- unlike when she'd left 221B the first time- she would not fall into the same mistakes, the same longing, the same distractions... the same heartbreak.

"I uhm…" She mumbled, refusing to open her eyes. "I've got to go to sleep."

Madeline got up off the couch and began to walk away before noticing that Sherlock had not yet let go of her wrist, it was still held tightly in his iron grip. Finally she opened her eyes and looked down at him. His eyes were no longer dilated; they only looked up at her with a same regarding look that overtook the rest of his face- astonishment.

Was he astonished at what she'd done? _Probably._ Madeline thought angry with herself, _I told myself to let him go, to back away- why can't I just **walk away**! _"Sherlock…" Her voice shook before demanding, "please."

Sherlock released her from his grip, she immediately walked away, still able to feel the warm tingling energy she'd felt from his warm skin, but poor Madeline Smith would never know that Sherlock _was_ indeed astonished- but not with her actions, he was astonished with his own.

* * *

**Alright, that was a lot to ****swallow. Is it getting hot in here or is it just Sherlock? **

**I hope you all enjoyed this sensual chapter! Comment if you please my lovelies!**


	5. A Little Bit Clearer Now

**Oh boy oh boy! **

**My usual thank you to all of your GORGEOUS ADORABLE FANTASTIC PERFECT LOVING people who commented on the last chapter- **

**Rainie Skyes, Amehhh, TheDoctorsMistress, ValeryBubbles, Midnight Valentina, HC, Nippa, Empress of Verace, LLPottle, and GrilledCheezus.**

**The reason I'm posting this chapter 4 days sooner than I intended is because of all of your lovely comments. **

Enjoy.

* * *

**Morning **

**8am **

Sherlock's lids were heavy as he opened them bit by bit. The man rarely slept and having just come off a case it had been at least 2 days since he'd had a full nights sleep, but it wasn't just that. Sherlock's body felt like it had been ran over by a car. This was mainly due to the fact that it had been, quite literally.

With a light gasp he suddenly remembered what happened the previous night with Madeline, his eyes opened like a shot. As he found himself looking at the ceiling he realized he was still laying on the couch, unmoved.

"Something's missing here." A voice next to him said, the detective turned his head to see John Watson sitting next to him on the table, exactly where Madeline had sat the previous night. In a flash he nearly set aside all thoughts of what happened with Madeline as Sherlock remembered what all that he'd done to John- and what he'd said. The guilt hung over him like a heavy cloud, it was like any minute he was just waiting for his best friend to tell him that he'd had enough and he was leaving, but John Watson had yet to make Sherlock's worst nightmare come true. And it's not like Sherlock would have blamed him if he would just now say such things, Sherlock knew how cruel he'd been to John, but then again no one had such extraordinary patience with Sherlock as John Watson did.

John was leaning his elbows on his knees, his hands intertwined as he looked at his close friend, unamused, "no shirt on and sleeping on the couch- don't want to give Mrs. Hudson a fright, now do we?"

Putting his weight on his elbows, Sherlock attempted to get up but gasped at the soreness of his chest, it felt as though a large rock were sitting atop it. Running his hand over his bandage over his swelling gash, Sherlock decided it was best to remain lying down.

"Lemme take a look at that." John said concerned, putting on his best doctor voice. Taking the pair of scissors he cut the wrapping that wrapped all around his lower stomach off. The moment the gauze peeled off there was an immediate wince on his face, "Jesus." John commented.

"Is it bad?" Sherlock inquired tiredly. He could feel the cool air hit the gooeyness of his horribly cleaned cut.

John nodded, "Jesus, Sherlock, what did she clean it with here? I mean…"

"Soap."

"What?" He looked at Sherlock astonished, wondering if he misheard.

Speaking slowly between his teeth Sherlock replied, "She used. A bar. Of. Soap."

They sat in silence for a moment or two, John with his eyebrows raised mulling over the painful thought.

"Alright then." John cleared his throat and got up, "Guess you got your proper punishment then."

Sherlock watched John walk away with wide worried eyes, "John… John where are you going? …John!"

John walked into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and pulled out a little metal box, "just getting the medical kit, calm your horses. Where did you think I was going?"

Sherlock laid back down and let out a breath of relief he'd been holding in. Sitting back down in front of him, John began to re-clean Sherlock's wound. It was light purple and a dark red at the same time, The gash was deep and was secreting some very unkind looking liquids, "it looks infected." Sherlock commented looking down at it.

"That's because it is infected." John added.

As John began to dab at the wound, silence fell between them, but it was not comfortable as it usually was- it was slightly awkward as there was still bitterness from John's end towards Sherlock. They both knew he had every right to be upset.

"John…" Sherlock began, the doctor simply kept working. "John I'm sorry."

John Watson continued to clean the wound as if no words had been spoken.

He wasn't going to make this easy.

"John, what I did was selfish," Sherlock began, "I understand it was somewhat cruel to you, and you have to believe that I did it with thoughts only for my benefit, not for the intention of…" He almost feared to say the word, "harming you. …_Again._"

John's eyebrows came together, but not in confusion- in a casual manner, one that made Sherlock wonder if his words were having any effect at all. "Benefit, you say?"

"Yes."

Sighing, John poured the hydrogen peroxide on a towel and said brightly, "This is going to hurt a bit."

"JESUS!" Sherlock gasped, the alcohol burning his wound with no mercy. They could both hear it bubble and lightly sizzle his flesh. "I bet you're enjoying this." Sherlock muttered grinding his teeth.

Smiling with a shrug John replied, "oh, only a little."

Calming down as the sting began to cool off Sherlock settled himself into a sitting position against the arm of the couch, "Good, want to punch me to make yourself feel better as well? I'd take that over the alcohol again."

"Oh no that won't be necessary," John pulled out a pair of tweezers from the kit, "You've got some shrapnel."

"Fantastic."

John began to pull out the little pieces of glass, setting them in an ashtray. Silence once more filled 221B, a silence that annoyed Sherlock beyond words even as he winced with every piece of glass that was picked out of his open wound.

"So I really meant what I said."

"Hm?" John asked nonchalantly, "What was that?"

Sherlock's foot began to tap rapidly in succession, impatient with John's responses. "That I'm sorry for what I did and…"

John paused for a moment and looked up at Sherlock curiously, it was rare when Sherlock apologized but even rarer when he made a sentimental comment. John didn't think this would be one of those times but apparently, that's what it was turning out to be.

Sherlock looked away for a moment and sighed before looking back at his best friend, "And I was an idiot not just for what I did but for what I said because none of it was true…" Pausing a moment Sherlock spoke with utmost sincerity, "you're the bravest man I know. Have ever known."

Swallowing John looked down and sighed before looking back up, "I say the same about you." Nodding as he looked at Sherlock's incredulous face, he added, "Yeah, I do. Apology accepted. And I swear to god if you almost kill yourself or pretend kill yourself in front of me one more time-"

"I don't intend on it happening again." Sherlock huffed.

"Why did it happen yesterday anyways? I mean, why did you do it?"

"…What, didn't Madeline tell you before she ran out of here before I woke up?"

"No, no she didn't tell me anything and even if she had told me the answer you gave her, I wouldn't have believed it."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're a liar and I see the way you look at her." Sherlock looked away from John's knowing stare and inquiry. John by no means was upset, just curious. Since his 'return' from his 'death' Sherlock Holmes had been a changed man. The loneliness of a year had made him more quick to change emotion- more on edge if even possible. One minute happy, the next minute upset and broody. This was entirely normal for Sherlock Holmes but as of late it was getting to be too much. "You did it just instead of shooting up and going back to drugs, didn't you?"

And John knew that's definitely not what Sherlock had told Madeline. There was no answer, but the silence from Sherlock was answer enough to confirm John's speculation. Something was eating away at his best friend.

John was there when he and Sherlock had to pump Madeline's stomach, Sherlock was frantic, messy and mostly unhelpful as he was too busy scolding himself and going mad barking orders at John. John slowly saw the breaks in Sherlock's calm, the cracks that were beginning to form under the pressure of whatever it was he felt for Madeline; the inquiry for John would have to be to find out what it was that Sherlock felt exactly and whether it would end well.

"So what happened between you and Madeline?"

"She's clouding my judgment."

"Is she? Are you sure it's her? Or is your repressing of her clouding your judgment? To be honest the latter seems more accurate."

"I don't know. …I want to walk away, but I can't. Not like I had before. I always seem to…"

The consulting detective was out of words to say. His stoic face unmoving as he stared before him outside the window lost in his own thoughts.

"Sherlock, please tell me you have a plan." John said, both men made worried eye contact, "Her life is on the line if she doesn't find those papers and to be quite honest, it's not looking too good for her. So please tell me you have a plan." John took a deep breath, "She means a lot to me too. She's like the sister I always wanted, I don't want to lose her. Tell me you have something brilliant up your sleeve."

Sherlock continued to look ahead of him, his eyes bright against the sun shining through the window.

"…Mycroft says I'll be the death of her."

"And do you think that's true?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he only continued to stare. John began again to apply the anti-biotic ointment in silence. As John cleaned it he grew exasperated at how much worse it looked today than when it was pouring out blood yesterday.

"Jesus Sherlock, this thing might get even more infected. Why did you not just tell Madeline how to clean it properly? Why did you let her botch your job?"

The only reply John received from Sherlock was a shrug and a mumble of, "I don't know"

Once John placed the gauze on the wound, he took a long glance at his friend who was lost in his own thoughts, staring ahead of him aimlessly.

It was decided, John knew that whatever it was between Sherlock and Madeline, if they continued on this road, it would not end well. These complications, these emotions- the flourishing of them and the repressing of them, would be the undoing of them both.

"Where's the medical tape Sherlock?" He asked, not wanting to bring up his fearful conclusion, "Why is there only this wrapping stuff Madeline used? You know that wrapping is only for sprains, not cuts."

"Oh, here-" Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the small (once apparently missing) roll of medical tape.

"Sherlock," John inquired taping the gauze to his stomach, "What is a roll of medical tape doing in your pocket?"

Once more, Sherlock shrugged, "No reason."

"Well," John brushed it off, "This should've been the thing on your wound rather than that awful bandage she used..."

Sherlock cleared his throat casually, waiting for the doctor to finish his job.

* * *

**London Academy of Ballet **

**8:02am**

Madeline grand-jete-ed vigorously across the floor, her back arching, neck elongating and legs splitting so perfectly before landing. She was out of breath when she got into final position; she could feel and hear her heartbeat in her face, burning with intensity. Madeline could feel the energy and emotion pulse through her veins, her legs had felt like an extension of her heart and she'd lost herself in performance.

For the first time- ever, Madam Helga clapped. Madeline broke from position and looked at her instructor with wide shocked eyes. "That was the best you've ever danced, Miss Smith."

This was their last rehearsal before her audition for a visitor solo spot with the London ballet company which was in… less than 10 minutes. The casting director was on his way and Madeline couldn't even believe she was getting the opportunity to dance for him.

"Do you really think so?"

"I do," Her instructor nodded, "whatever it was you had in your head just then, keep it there- because if you do the routine just as you did- the spot's yours."

Madeline smiled and closed her eyes. Her recent frustrations from the previous night haunted her every moment since, but they were coming in handy at the very least.

* * *

"John!" Madeline shouted happily, slamming the front door of 221B behind her, "JOHN!" Stomping her way quickly up the stairs she ran into the living room and spoke breathlessly, "John-" only to realize that she'd almost forgotten a certain consulting detective lived there as well.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch with his shirt still off (a proper bandage on) and John sat on the table across from him putting medical supplies away. She blushed madly remembering what had happened the previous night, she could see the (somehow) found medical tape sitting on the table. Both men stared at her curiously. Madeline quickly moved her attention to John. "John I got it!"

"Got what?"

"What do you think." She replied happily holding up her pair of pointe shoes (the same ones Sherlock had got her for Christmas 2 years prior, but that was something Madeline tried regularly to brush out of her mind every time she slipped them on.).

Immediately John's face brightened, "The visitor solo spot?" Madeline nodded unable to control her laughter. John jumped up onto his feet and ran towards Madeline with arms wide open and embraced her. When they pulled away both held hands and Madeline jumped up and down while squealing loudly. "Madeline that's fantastic!"

"Can you believe it?!"

"I certainly can." Sherlock's dull voice broke through the excitement. John and Madeline's attention turned to him as he looked at them unamused and expectantly. "What, no one going to share with me the good news or am I just going to continue to sit here like a lamp?"

Madeline's smile was gone, letting go of John's hand she spoke bluntly to Sherlock, "Make a deduction." The atmosphere in the room turned cold quickly. She walked away into his room where her clothes and luggage remained, slamming the door behind her.

Taking a moment to look between the closed door and Sherlock, John held up his finger, "What in the bloody hell was that all about?"

Sherlock shrugged in a manner that was reminiscent of their once trip to Buckingham palace.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell is going on between you two. One day you're making her a sandwich and she's giving you het stomach particles and we're all happy, and the next you're both as cold as ice- will you just be straight forward with me, please?"

Meeting John's eye contact only for a moment, Sherlock gave John a casual look as he spoke, "I don't think it's necessary. Perhaps you're putting all of these moods in your head, John. Imagination."

Not a moment later did Madeline stomp out of Sherlock's room, in a full swing of rage with one of Sherlock's shirts balled up in her right hand. She threw it square at Sherlock's chest, shouting at the top of her lungs, "**And put a fucking shirt on!**" before stomping away back into his room, once more slamming the door behind her so hard the items along the wall shook.

Silence filled 221B once more, the shirt sliding down Sherlock's shoulder onto his lap. Finally, he dared a glance at John who looked at him incredulously and said, "My imagination, was it?

* * *

Madeline growled after slamming the door shut- **god was she upset with _him_. **

**HIM. **

_How dare he… act the way he's acting after what he- what we- almost didn't but did do last night! How dare he ruin my moment of happiness!_

Tightening her fists and slamming her eyes closed, Madeline stomped her foot and shouted before vaulting her body face-first on the bed.

She was trying so hard but it didn't matter where she was or what happened- there he was.

_Probably has something to do with the fact that I live with him._ Madeline thought hopelessly. Even as she laid there on his bed she couldn't deny the fact that she loved inhaling his scent. She hated him and couldn't help but love it as well.

"I'm sooo messed up." Madeline mumbled into the bed, remaining unmoved.

Finally she lay her cheek against the sheet and turned to look at her old metal drawers that remained in the corner of the room 2 years later. Untouched and unlocked since the only key that existed was still on the necklace around her neck along with her parents locket. The drawers were gathering dust, but Madeline recalled having left most of her pieces of artwork (of a particular someone) in there.

Hearing the front door of the flat close twice indicating John and Sherlock had gone out, Madeline knew what she had to do. She was going to burn all of the pictures she'd drawn of him and she was going to start over. Her life was too short and whatever it was between the two of them, there was too much wrong for it to ever go right.

"I've gotta let go."

* * *

**Downtown London **

**8:20pm**

Sherlock Holmes walked through the streets lost in his own thoughts. The wind was blowing rapidly in the afternoon, he lifted his collar against it. He felt his phone vibrate in his phone and answered it, "Yes."

"Sherlock," Lestrade said, "I've got another case for you-"

"Boring."

"You haven't even heard it!"

"Listen Lestrade, no more side cases. I'm working on quite a big case as it is with Mycroft-"

"Yes I know," Lestrade countered, "poor Madeline. Three years in progress, two life attempts and still no breaks."

"True, but still more interesting than a robbed millionaire."

"Wha-" Lestrade said, his voice rising in pitch utterly upset and astonished, "how did you kno-"

But before he could finish, Sherlock hung up. It's not that he didn't want another case, it was just each time he took one he felt Madeline's case more and more hopeless. He felt her life slipping out of his hands.

Each day that came and went that those documents weren't found, there was a gloominess over 221B that sooner or later Madeline would be killed. They'd even given up looking for them, her advancements with ballet- her new opening at the local gallery, she was trying to get as much in her life as she could before it was taken away from her and there was something about that that made Sherlock… _feel._ Actually _feel._

And he hated it.

He didn't know what it was, this pull towards her. This strange gravitation towards that immensely strange small town American but actually British girl who's past was darker and more morbid than anyone's he'd ever known. What was it exactly?

_'Momentary glitches of sentiment.' _Mycroft called it, raising an eyebrow, _'don't be an idiot, Sherlock.'_

This was of course very much in contrast with what John had told him, '_Listen, Sherlock, you've got to figure out whatever the hell this is. It's nothing shameful to explore something new. …Just don't be an idiot.'_

Well, the comments were _mostly_ different.

Of course Sherlock had told neither of them anything regarding Madeline, they'd only just assumed. Sherlock had deduced as much that the relentless tension between them that was so unbearable was blatantly obvious to all those around them. Of course it passed over Mrs. Hudson's head like a bird, but even Lestrade had his theories.

Sherlock was confused beyond belief; his body was betraying him constantly. His mind had searched and searched relentlessly for an answer until it hit him so suddenly on his walk-

_This must just be a guilty reaction for not having solved her case with her death getting closer! _

_Yes, of course! _

_Well, the answer's quite simple then- I will no longer hold myself the guilty party. This is just another case, she is just another client, and not all of my cases have been solved. Now I feel guilty that it will result in her death- that is all! _

A smile actually adorned Sherlock's face as he lifted his fists, throwing aside all of his body's foolish reactions of Madeline Smith.

Conveniently enough he found himself standing in front of 221b, the lights were off but he could see the fireplace on. John had gone out for another (_foolish_) date that would (_most definitely_) end in heartbreak leaving Madeline alone in the flat.

"No time like the present." He mumbled to himself opening the door of 221B, ready to test out his new theory against Madeline's presence- determined to not have a repeat of the previous night.

* * *

**221B**

Walking up the stairs one by one Sherlock mentally prepared himself, _whatever she's doing, whatever she's wearing, whatever she says- I will hate it. and ignore it. because she is a client, just a client._

Reaching the top of the stairs Sherlock was surprised to see the sight before him. All of his thoughts had suddenly become worthless.

Madeline was sitting on the middle of the floor, a plate of paint colours next to her and a canvas inbetween her legs as she painted with her fingers, her hands and arms covered in paint with a little bit on her face. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, she wore short shorts and one of Sherlock's favourite undershirt wife-beaters (which was now covered in paint as well.) She looked up at him and spoke with an unkind tone, "Didn't think you'd be back so soon. I need to be inspired for my new showing at the local gallery, so do me a favour and leave, hm?"

Sherlock stood as stared at her, utterly speechless.

"John brought you your favourite sandwich by the way." Madeline said challengingly, "I ate it." Before going back to turning her attention to her painting.

Everything about this situation should have pissed Sherlock off.

First, she was messying their wood floors with her paint; secondly, she was wearing his favourite tank-top-undershirt as a paint rag; thirdly she'd ate his sandwich- the only thing he was willing to eat in the past 2 days; and lastly she… she…

She was there.

Sherlock still felt that jump in his chest and churning in his stomach at the sight of her-

And it had nothing to do with the case. And that was the only thing that got him angry.

_No, no this is just my… loneliness of the past year catching up with me. _He attempted to counter to himself convincingly, but it was all to no avail. Nothing rid him of that burning in his chest when she was around, even the sight of her wearing his shirt was too much to handle.

_Just stay away, stay away... don't give in again. This isn't you. _

But it was to no avail. All of his previous attempts of convincing had fallen away so easy- they hadn't even put up a fight. Just like that they were gone. His barriers were slowly cracking.

"JESUS, what are you staring at!" Madeline snapped finally looking up from her artwork, it was then Sherlock realized he'd been in fact standing before her staring at her and thinking simultaneously for at least 10 minutes.

Opening his mouth and taking a deep breath, Sherlock felt he should just cut right to the chase, "I'm going to be quite frank here-"

"Is there a time when you're not?"

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth like a fish, with no words coming out, succumbing to the fact that she was right- he was always frank. And with that he ate his own words and decided to take a different approach.

"What are you painting?"

"Like you care." Madeline mumbled returning to her canvas. She was more than determined to keep on her word to herself, he wasn't going to weasel his way to her.

"No, really," Sherlock took off his trench coat and sat on the chair next to where she sat on the floor, "tell me what it is, because right now it looks awful."

Of course, an insult. Letting out a sigh, she replied, "It's a base painting. Meaning I do a rough color blotch of all the things I'm going to paint. Like if I'm painting a field I outline it and color it in with different shades of green with my fingers and then I go back later with a brush and define, add, and detail the painting."

"Is that… conventional?"

This time, not annoyed but more surprised at Sherlock's comment, Madeline looked up at him incredulously, "are you asking me a question about something?" He continued to stare at her, his eyebrows together curiously, "Are you serious? What, do you not know every little thing about paint and painting and artists?" Don't you want to tell me that because of the dirt under my left index finger that you can tell I'm not invoking proper painting technique?"

Sherlock did not answer immediately to her sarcastic questioning, not because he didn't want to, but mostly because he wondered if he should tell her the truth. "I wasn't raised in an artistic environment. The only proper form of self-expression of any kind was through playing instruments."

Not only that but he was asking her for information to satisfy his curiosity and that was strange, he was opening up to her and that was _beyond _strange, but in both regards he was being kind. Perhaps that's what freaked her out the most.

"You…" Her voice considerably softer, "You didn't paint in school?" She asked casually.

With a stoic face, almost defiantly, Sherlock replied. "No."

Raising her eyebrows at his blunt reply, "Alright, just a question." She mumbled. "sorry."

Taking a moment, Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh.

"I… I went to a boarding school. I was sent away from home when I was 12. It was a very strict environment."

"So… you've never painted, or drawn, or… danced?"

"No." His answer was softer this time.

This was also a reminder that everyone was a product of their environment, Madeline's adoptive parents had been wonderful and nurturing encouraging creativity and art; Sherlock Holmes was a product of his environment as well, one that so far sounded like it was very cold and somewhat sad. No wonder he took refuge to notice every little detail about someone to learn about them, it seemed like people weren't very open where he came from. What else was a curious little boy left to do?

She couldn't help it, but she felt bad for him. A childhood is a time to do those sorts of things to open creative doors and worlds of imagination, Sherlock's seemed to be very different. Painting and dancing were her escapes from the cold harsh world, they were her life and her parents encouraged them. A life without them- _her _life without them, even the thought of it was unbearable.

But Sherlock- he was a different story. He embraced the cold harsh world, no- he breathed it. Every single day it was all he ever wanted, all he ever hoped for- another wrong thing to happen so he could figure out why and not be fooled by the world once. Regardless of the fact that he was almost _always_ right, it was a cold place to live in with no escape. That was a very different reality for Madeline, for she had her own means of escape, he had none.

...And just like that, Madeline Smith began to understand the real Sherlock Holmes a little bit better.

Madeline hesitated, "Do you want to… try?"

The lifted his eyebrows and shook his head, "To dance? No."

Madeline giggled at his serious expression and clever comment, going along with his little game, "oh what are you sure you don't want me to teach you how to pas de bourre? You don't have a secret dying passion to become a prima ballerina, Sherlock?"

With a deep resonance and wide smile, Sherlock chuckled as Madeline giggled at the thought of him in tights and pointe shoes.

"Not quite." He replied. "Feel free to talk to Mycroft though, there's a little ballerina in there dying to get out." They broke out into another fit of giggles.

_Woe, this is strange…_ Madeline thought at her realization as they laughed, _we're having a laugh and conversing like… normal people._

_ ...This must be the Sherlock that John sees. _

A light silence fell between them, the only sound coming from the lit fireplace that was warming and lighting the dark living room.

"So… do you want to have a go?" Madeline offered holding up her paint drenched fingers.

"Oh no that's alright, I know that's one of your pieces for that local gallery showing you're doing." Sherlock replied quickly, "I don't want to… ruin it."

Madeline smiled lightly and innocently, having absolutely no idea what sort of a door she was opening, "Don't worry about it! Come on," scooting forward on the floor she made room for him, "I'll show you."

* * *

***EDIT: **

For those of you who have come to me not understanding why Sherlock kept the medical tape, it's so Madeline would have to use the bandage wrap and wrap it around his chest so the gauze would stay on... sneaky little shit ;) *

**Please don't kill me! I know I'm a bloody tease. But come on- don't you just want to cuddle Sherlock relentlessly until he shoves you off of him and mumbles _'sentiment_.'? Cause I know I do. **

**And I know I promised this to be the chapter that we're gunna... you know... but it was getting to be too long so I had to split it in half. **

**Hey just think of it this way- you know what to look forward to in the next chapter and let me just say- **

**get your fans and towels ready because it's going to be _very sexy_. **

**Comments are the greatest thing in the world. Please do :) **


	6. Like Magnets

**Hello everyone! I was hoping to get this up before New Years but it didn't work out. But here it is! **

**Wow, all of you who commented- you're marvelous. Thank you: Midnight Valentina, Empress of Verace, Majestic-Space-Duck, Amehhh, Guest, sailormajinmoon, Deathcab4kimmie, Rainie Skyes, HC, LittleMissRebellious, Nippa, grilledcheezus, creyings, and CassiTTMMMSSPPJ.  
**

**You're all the cheese to my macaroni. I love you all. I really do hope you love this chapter as you've waited so patiently for it. **

* * *

_There's a drumming noise inside my head,_

_It starts when you're around._

_I swear if you could hear it,_

_It makes such an almighty sound_.*

* * *

**221B**

**15 minutes later **

By the time Sherlock had settled himself behind Madeline, she'd found herself explaining the concept of what it was she was trying to do. His sleeves were rolled up waiting for her to finish, Sherlock waited patiently watching her profile in the glow of the fireplace as she spoke animatedly.

"…So basically this is a commentary on the irony of our standard of living- you know, big houses with nothing in them, nothing to fill them with. Big, empty lives that look shiny and new."

"Hm."

"Well, it's not like I know much about that, ever since my parents died I've always been exceptionally poor. But I look at it from the inside out, I think it's pretty accurate."

"Hm."

"Now you," Madeline said addressing towards the new blank canvas in front of them, "just paint what _you _feel."

Sherlock paused for a long moment before intaking a deep sharp breath and replied distastefully, getting himself up, "No. This clearly isn't for me-"

"NO." Madeline shouted, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him to sit back down on the ground. Sherlock looked down at his shirt at the two painted handprints she put there. "…sorry. It's just, you can't walk away before you even try." Madeline replied guiltily, realizing she'd ruined most of his wardrobe within the past hour. "So just go ahead and dip your fingers."

"In which ones?"

"Any, do what you feel."

Letting out an aggravated sigh, Sherlock gritted his teeth, "I want you to tell me the proper colours-"

"No, there is no such thing." Madeline countered, "You've just gotta do it."

"Fine." Sherlock snapped unhappily. Slowly reaching out to the pallet before them Sherlock dipped his first finger in the dollop of red.

"Red?" Madeline asked.

"…yes."

"Go ahead."

Biting his bottom lip, Sherlock hesitated immensely. Madeline watched with a light smile as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration- clearly not wanting to get it wrong. Slowly he placed his finger against the canvas and drew a line down the middle. With the same look of concentration and workmanship, Sherlock looked at Madeline unconsciously wanting approval, "How's that?"

It took all of her might- every single inch of her not to drawl out, _'awww'_. It was like watching someone learn how to ride a bike for the first time. She was sure that if she made such an inclination towards Sherlock that he'd certainly throw himself out a window. "That's really good, Sherlock."

"Don't patronize me." He mumbled, yet immediately went back to staring at the pallet deciding to dip his middle finger in the dollop of blue. He painted the line to intersect the red line like a cross.

"You know, Sherlock, "Madeline began, "You don't… _have _to paint so cleanly."

"I like it this way." He demanded, wanting to leave no room for argument.

"I know you do, but let me show you something."

Madeline, grabbed Sherlock's hand that didn't want her to take it away from its perfect painting, and she pushed it down onto the pallet of colors. The paint squeezed and popped around and between Sherlock's fingers and palm. With both of her hands on top of his, Madeline twisted it from side to side swirling the colours beneath his hand against the pallet.

"There we go!" Madeline exclaimed happily, his hand fell with a light splatter onto the canvas, "That's better."

"Well now it's going to look like nothing."

"Who knows," She shrugged looking next to her at him with a light smile on, "Maybe you're an abstract artist?"

Pursing his lips at the word Sherlock muttered, "I'll be no such thing." Before turning back to his piece of art.

Slowly he began to run his multicoloured fingers across it, the colours dancing and swirling. One by one he lifted them and began to form the motions of the lines. Focusing on the blues, black, orange and yellow Sherlock's painting began to take shape.

Soon enough he began to pile the paint on the canvas like water, biting his bottom lip Sherlock's unyielding attention grew in concentration.

So there they sat for the better part of a half hour, Sherlock painting and Madeline staring at him. She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes glowed while looking at the colours against the fire. The time had gone by so quickly, she'd nearly lost track of it.

Finally, realizing she'd been staring at him rather than watching the painting, Madeline turned to look at the canvas before them. She observed as his long fingers caressed the canvas, his right hand drenched in paint before his fingertips slid off smoothly.

"That's all." Sherlock said. "It's done."

"Oh, uhm, are you sure?"

"Yes."

Just as Madeline was going to comment on how lovely it was, she felt Sherlock make some strange movements behind her; it was then she looked back and saw he was (most shockingly) taking off his button up shirt in a far too casual manner.

"Wh… what are you doing!?" She said worriedly, watching his fit arms lifting the shirt off. Thankfully he had a wife beater on under, or else Madeline was certain she would have fainted. Every reminder of her caressing his chest the night before came flooding back to her, her blood began to thicken and her cheeks blushed at the thought.

"Why not," Sherlock mumbled wiping his hand, "it's already ruined as it is. Here," He held out his free hand for her, Madeline hesitantly put her hands in it. Reaching his arm around her from the other side he barely wrapped both arms around her and began to softly wipe the paint off her hands.

Shivers ran up her spine, every nerve in her body was alert as she felt his chest press into her back. She watched his long fingers wipe and wipe. Both of their hands were now smeared with dried paint, it was tucked under their nails and ran up their forearms. This didn't stand out too much against Madeline's light olive skin but was in stark contrast with Sherlock's immensely pale flesh. Finally he took a last swipe against Madeline's left palm before letting his shirt fall to the floor, her hands now lying in his own.

"Thanks." Madeline mumbled, her cheeks literally felt ignited.

This was the most unusual situation they'd fallen into. One innocent move right after another; it seemed their chemistry, their inability to stay away had finally taken physical form whether they liked it or not. It was going to be one way or another but unconsciously, deep down, this moment of intimacy would have found them one way or another. After living together for a second time, the tension was nearly too much to bear.

It was then, in that moment of hands against hands, that both of them realized the position that they were in; and more importantly- the close proximity that they were in. By no means had Sherlock intentionally gotten them that close, but his subconscious had certainly done the job for them- as had hers.

With his legs lazily laying outside of hers, Madeline could feel his warm breath against her bare neck, her eyes nearly rolled to the back of her head to keep her from moaning.

"I uhm…" She breathed. "you did… good. The…painting."

And it was then that Sherlock placed his nose against her hair- that was the undoing of him right then and there. Her intoxicating scent that teased him 24/7 was now being indulged. He closed his eyes and squeezed her hands, her fingers curling against his. They felt so small in his own; he'd never felt anything so soft. It was then, for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was officially lost to his own passion.

_What is happening to me… _ His mind thought with a whisper, but it quickly became background noise as everything- the fire, her scent, her skin, her voice, the heat coming off her back- everything was stimulating him like the strongest drug imaginable, and Sherlock was most certainly the addict- no longer able to resist the temptation any longer.

"Uhm wh…" Madeline's voice tremble as she watched with heavy eyes, his hands caress her own. His long fingers intertwined with hers before running their tips softly against her palm. Madeline's breathing was getting heavier and heavier, she could feel her temperature begin to rise against the fire, or perhaps it was his relentless breath against her neck- a constant indication to how close his lips were to her tender flesh. "what're you doing" she finally breathed. She knew she was a lost cause from many moments ago.

"I just-" Madeline nearly jumped at the sound of Sherlock's deep voice, his very first words sending an instant shock between her legs. His voice was as low as could be, the rumble in his chest vibrated onto her back making her sit up straight. "I can't… seem to… stay away." His reply was soft and sincere, "and it seems I don't want to." Yet daring.

And with that he pushed himself flush up against her, Madeline moaned in surprise as his arms engulfed her tightly, she could feel him grow against her lower back, his lips now against her ear breathing heavily, his hands running up and down her forearms lightly.

"Oh, god." She breathed, hissing.

Madeline could feel his lips against her ear now, he made no try in attempting them to keep them off of her lobe as he spoke, "Do you want me to stay away, as you said?" His voice drawled out deep and on the edge of all coherency.

The intoxication of him was almost too much. He was a drug. He was her drug. Madeline closed her eyes in near ecstasy just at his touch, voice, and breath, knowing he was watching her face- unable to speak and barely able to breathe Madeline shook her head lightly, "no."

There was no reason to try and fight it. Neither of them could. And most certainly neither of them would.

Finally she turned her face to the side to look at him, she almost lost her breath. His eyes were black and fully dilated- no colour was left. And unlike before when they had frightened her- now they enticed her. They dared her, they wanted her as they looked right through her, seeminly seeing every inch of her body and soul as they looked back into her eyes.

Sherlock observed the shadows of her face. Her skin looked so soft, so supple. Sherlock felt every shred of him, every cold bit of his consciousness fall to pieces and melt. His eyebrows came together in confusion as he studied her. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he had no choice but to welcome it… and that's not to say he didn't want to either. His body, his _heart_, had taken over. It was all to no avail; Sherlock had lost himself to his inhibitions- and it's the most human he'd ever been. He'd never felt so free.

Lifting his right hand, Sherlock watched his fingertips reach her cheek with a light touch. Madeline immediately closed her eyes and turned away from looking at him, instead focusing her attention on the fireplace before them.

Madeline barely whispered, "Sherlock."

"Yes." He replied breathlessly; the huskiness in his voice was shocking to them both, his eyes now half lidded as he tilted his forehead against the side of her head, looking at Madeline beneath his lashes.

"We're just a disaster waiting to happen." She replied, her voice small yet sincere. There was fear laced in it, a fear they both had- but her words were entirely lacking protest. They gave way to her desire.

Madeline's heart was beating a thousand times per second it seemed; in all the moments of adrenaline in her life- this was by far the most stirring. She'd never felt such a high in her life, such a needing- such a wanting.

With a very light nod, Sherlock replied, "I know." His hands dropped and lightly gripped each of her knees on either side of them.

Shivers ran up Madeline's spine, his long fingers tickling her as they slowly began to run themselves up to the top of her knees before pausing.

"Shall we let it happen?" Sherlock inquired softly, heat in his voice against her ear.

His fingers curled against her sensitive skin before fully expanding again, Madeline gasped at the feeling. There was no answer that was needed. There was no turning back.

Slowly but surely, Sherlock bent his head down and eyed the most magnificent area where her neck and her shoulder met. He could feel his lips tingle and swell just at the thought. Closing his eyes for a moment, Sherlock bent his head down and lightly pressed his lips against one of her most tender spots.

Immediately Madeline softly sighed, her head lulled back onto Sherlock's shoulder, her eyes closing. Her whole neck now exposed to him. He placed yet another kiss along the length of her neck, she could feel his warm wet tongue stick out for a moment from between his lips to taste her salty sweet neck.

Madeline could feel every movement he made, every caress- every kiss. His hands carefully travelled up, up, up her thighs. Her breathing grew heavier as she was certain she knew where they were heading. No matter how bad she wanted it-

"Sherlock-" Madeline breathed out with a little worry. It was too soon.

"Shhhhhh…." He hushed in her ear before placing a kiss directly beneath it. "Don't worry."

It was expected for Madeline to forget that Sherlock, was in fact, every bit of a gentleman considering the position they were in, but as his hands glided up her hips, skipping over her more intimate area she was immediately reminded.

A light smile came upon her face, in that moment- he was perfect.

"_Oh, Maddie_…" Sherlock mumbled directly into her ear once more. She bit her lip at the sound of her nickname coming out of his mouth.

Sighing, she felt his palm come under her shirt, lying flat against the side of her stomach. He half-way curled his fingers until the tips and his palm ran across her belly.

"_Since the first day I met you…"_ He drawled from his chest.

Feeling his other hand slip beneath the back of her shirt as he spoke, his fingers caressing her lower-back- that was it for Madeline. Opening her eyes she gasped at the sensation, clearly he'd found one of her most sensitive spots. Lifting her head she turned to look at Sherlock once more; every inch of his face was etched in utter passion. Her lips had turned a deep red as she watched as his tongue darted out to moisten his own.

"Since the first day you met me, what?" Madeline questioned with a light playfulness, her voice was deep and breathless. She lifted her right hand to run the back of her fingers across his sharp cheekbone, "Tell me." She added with a whisper.

Turning fully towards him, Sherlock's hands moved to each side of her hip, he felt his back hit the front of the couch, his legs before him with each of Madeline's on either side as they straddled him.

"Tell me…" Madeline whispered again, lifting up on her knees, looking down at Sherlock as his head laid back on top of the cushions.

She was sitting directly on his thighs as she watched the change in his face. The passion, the need was taking him over. His hands squeezed at her hips. His jaw twitched as she ran her fingers through his thick lovely curls, pushing them out of his face only to have the same ones pop back out again.

"Why." Sherlock demanded. Shocking her immensely, Sherlock's hands moved from her hips to her bum. He cupped right under her bum, very much almost touching her most intimate place as his large hands squeezed her full flesh making her jump and moan in pleasure against him.

"**Mm!**"

Madeline's eyes opened wide looking down at him, a wild fire burning in them as she pressed herself against his prominent growing member beneath his pants. This time it was Sherlock's turn to gasp and moan, biting his bottom lip nearly drawing blood. She whispered, raspy, "…_Tell me_."

Leaning his head in he whispered with a dangerous playfulness, "No."

Running her hands across his face back into his hair, they paused for a moment with an attempt to slow time down- which seemed to be going at an incredible rate. Madeline felt a tug at her heart strings as she was determined to ask him the question on her mind since the moment she'd met him.

"…Why won't you just open up to people?"

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied, "not my area."

Madeline paused for a moment, letting both of her hands leave his hair and caress down to his face she said sincerely, "You're lovely, you know."

With equal sincerity, a lightness hit Sherlock's eyes, she could see the surprise and softness, as well as the denial come into them as she could make out a little blue and green return to them, he shook his head lightly, "No." His voice was light, soft, and sincere, "I'm not, Madeline."

Madeline looked at him sadly, a tint of sorrow in her eyes at the sincerity of his words.

This moment was so perfect- so wonderful in its utter sadness that Madeline saw into the soul of Sherlock Holmes. She saw how Sherlock Holmes truly saw himself. And it was not a happy vision he had.

She leaned her head forward, their lips only inches away, "why would you say such things?"

"Because," Sherlock whispered, his eyes looked down at her lips before coming back to her eyes, "I'm always right."

Finally, as his lips were moving towards hers-

**_BZzzzzzzz. _**

.

.

.

Madeline's phone vibrated loudly against the wooden floor.

Just before their lips connected, both pulled away knocked out of their worlds like a bucket of ice water had just been poured over them.

The moment was gone; the intoxication had quickly cleared up and the harshness of reality and consequence immediately set in. But neither had time to react. Not yet.

_Oh my god._ Madeline thought worriedly. Her face blushed madly as she climbed off of Sherlock, grabbing her phone from right next to his thigh she answered it quickly, her voice quivering, "H-hello?"

"Madeline," Michael's voice immediately shocked her back into the notion that she hadn't spoken to him in weeks. She hadn't even told him she was poisoned and had nearly died. The guilt hit her in a flash and suddenly the man she'd just been straddling had taken second place in her long list of guilt.

"Oh, _Jesus,_ Michael, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no it's not about that. Madeline, you won't believe it!" He bellowed into the phone happily; Madeline could hear Alex in the back mumbling something or another.

"Wait- what?" Madeline placed her finger over her other ear to listen better, unconsciously glancing at Sherlock for a moment as though he'd have the answer. "What did you say?"

"Madeline, we found something!"

"What did you find?" Immediately her heart floated in hope, her eyes looked again brightly at Sherlock who had a curious look on his face as well as he sat unmoved, his brain immediately going back to its old habit. "The documents, did you find the documents?" Madeline asked hopefully.

"I don't know- maybe!" Michael said breathlessly, "A safe, Madeline, we found a safe that was buried in the backyard next to where we buried our old dog, Sparky."

"A… safe?" Madeline repeated. She watched as Sherlock's brows came together, already lost in thought. Surely in a deduction.

"Yeah, we can't open it, but maybe you can. It's really old and heavy. I was thinking we'd send it to you but Alex is saying we travel with it, that we go to London and take it with us."

"Is that so?" Sherlock's voice shocked Madeline, as he finally spoke. Clearly he could hear Michael shouting on the other end. Madeline nodded. "Hm." He replied stoically and rather mysteriously. So basically right back in his old character.

"Is that a good idea, Michael?" Madeline began, "I mean, I don't know how safe it'll be-"

"Yes." Sherlock interjected. "Have them come."

"Thanks, Sherlock, sweetie!" Michael shouted from the phone, Madeline held it at a length away from her ear. "I'll be seeing you soon, kisses!" He smooched a couple out before hanging up.

Madeline was quite certain it took every inch of Sherlock to not groan in agony at the thought of being hit on so publically the way Michael did. Even if he was married, he still found a way to make the moves on Sherlock and Alex never seemed to mind, in fact- it seemed he found amusement out of it much like John did.

"Well then." Madeline said throwing her phone off to the side. "That's a new development I didn't see coming." She paused a moment, the thought of what nearly almost did just happen not escaping her as she closed her eyes, a vivid flash of Sherlock's face literally moments ago gasping in ecstasy filled her head. Shaking it viciously she looked to the floor and closed her eyes again, refusing to open them to see his face, "I uhm… suppose that means we're back on track again."

She could feel the distance coming between them again. The fire that lit that special moment, that once upon a time of inevitability and openness between them- was gone.

What had almost happened- what they'd almost done- it set in. It struck them both and neither were exempt from the accountability they felt they so owed.

"So it would seem." Sherlock replied in monotone giving no indication. It was as if nothing had happened, and nothing had taken place.

Madeline could hear a shuffle and then felt emptiness. She didn't even bother opening her eyes.

She knew Sherlock had left, and she wasn't going to respond.

* * *

**Oh boy, please don't kill me. This is one of those moments where I'm so glad I've not put my picture up for people to defile out of anger lol. It's like having an hour long foreplay that just drives you mad with ecstasy and desire that makes the sex afterwards so much better… except here there's no sex now, whoops. Doesn't mean you can't fap to it though ;)**

**I promised a sexy chapter, but I didn't promise this would be it. It's not- they're not ready, not yet. Just think of it this way- when it does happen (_IF _it does happen), it'll be all the more special… or all the more tragic. We'll see won't we? trollolololol**

**I've personally always found slow burns to be more beautiful and more real… and much sexier. And also, just as a side note- this chapter on the scale of 1-10 compared to the amount of hotness I have planned for the rest of this series- it's about a 5. So if you thought this was hot, trust me... There's a lot more we're going to be discovering ;) **

**Go to my profile if you want to see what I'd imagine Sherlock's painting looks like, I've linked it there! It's not mine by the way, not at all.**

**Please do comment my lovelies! I love them all so much and I read them as I'm writing to push me to write more and post faster. Comment if you will! Pleeasssee I love them love them _love them_! **

* * *

*_Drumming_; Florence + The Machine


	7. Back to Business

**Sorry for the long time to post. I wrote this chapter and it was all wrong- I hated it. So I re-wrote it so it could be better, because you all deserved better. Also, I edited this chapter and it didn't save- so I had to go back and re-edit again. This was basically a nightmare lol. So thanks for being so patient! **

**Also, my usual thanks to the people who commented on the last chapter! My shining stars, my beacons of light, my macaroni and cheese: **TheIceManandTheVirgin, Nippa, GrilledCheezus, sailormajinmoon, Amehhh , HC, Midnight Valentina, Empress of Verace. **As for the if Sherlock is a virgin in my fic or not, that won't be addressed until a different part of the story- don't wanna spoil it :) **

**AND- VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE EVERYBODY READ THIS WARNING: ****The last bit of the chapter, the last little section of it is going to be rated R, or M for Mature. It's not hardcore, but believe me its sexual enough. I've separated it by going MMMMMM and it goes from there to the end. So if you're uncomfortable with it here's your warning. **

* * *

**St. Bart's Hospital **

"So, uhm, basically the cause of death is unknown…" Molly Hooper continued nervously eying Sherlock from beneath her lashes, "I just can't seem to pinpoint it." She had been happily dating doctor Jack for about 2 weeks now, but much to her disappointment it seemed there would always be a part of her that was woozy for Sherlock. She knew she was better off with Doctor Jack and was doing better around Sherlock because of it, at the very least. And that was enough for now.

"Any theories?" Lestrade cut in, his eyes moving rapidly between Molly and Sherlock, hoping to move the conversation along. But the consulting detective was unfortunately in… different sorts. Even John Watson looked confused as they watched Sherlock stand in the middle of the morgue with his eyes closed and head tilted back as though he'd fallen asleep.

"Uhm…" John began, his eyebrows furrowing together, "Sherlock?"

"Mmm." A grumble came from Sherlock's chest. That was to be their reply.

There hadn't been many other stranger situations that the four of them gathered around a dead body on a slab and all of their attention on a seemingly resting Sherlock who seemingly had no interest in the dead body.

"Sherlock are you asleep?" John finally asked, absolutely astonished.

"mmmno." Sherlock replied in a mumble. "What sort of an idiotic question is that; if I were asleep I wouldn't be able to answer you. Therefore you wasted a perfectly good question that could have been answered in placement of a stupid one that would have been answered regardless of the question as long as it was being answered."

"Great, good to know you're still a dick even in dire situations." John replied quickly.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Lestrade asked taking a step forward, "Are you alright?"

It was then that Molly looked down and took notice of Sherlock's gloved hands that were balled into fists at his sides… painfully tight. The only indication that anything was wrong, and she'd noticed. "No," She said suddenly taking a step towards him, "no he's not. Sherlock open your eyes."

With much effort Sherlock tilted his head right side up and barely could open his eyes before grabbing onto the table before him with one hand as he keeled over in pain, his right hand clutching his side. "I'm fine, I'm fine…" He breathed.

"Christ, no you're not." John said rushing to his side holding him up, "It got infected, just like I thought it would. Jesus, Sherlock, have you not been changing the bandages?"

"It might've slipped my mind," He gasped as he laid his weight against John's, standing up almost fully straight, "once or twice…" Greg looked at him with wide eyes, "or three times."

"Jesus, Sherlock," Greg replied, "are you bloody mad! Run into a car and you can't even change the bandages yourself-" He grabbed a stool and put it under Sherlock who relished at finally sitting down.

"I'll go get some supplies." Molly said hurriedly as she scampered around looking for the right tools.

"I've been occupied." Sherlock replied vaguely as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"With what? Christ, now we can't even finish this case." Lestrade said exasperated looking down at the body of the poor woman who he was certain now would never get proper justice, "You'll be out of it for days."

Moments of silence passed as Sherlock slipped off his shirt and undershirt in silence. He was haunted, that much was certain. Sherlock had hoped a new case would take his mind off of... other things, that had been recently filling his everyday thoughts. But this case was a disappointment, as many of them were. But what Sherlock found was that by _conveniently_ forgetting to clean his infected wound for the past week, the pain had culminated enough to get his mind off of his current thoughts, from time to time. And that was enough to keep him sane as of late, but it still couldn't get the image of her bloody green eyes out of his head-

John watched him in absolute shock, "What? That's it? … no insisting you take the case because of how interesting it is? You practically jumped out of your chair when you were put on it and now you're…" John tried to think of the right word, "…out of it? Without a fight?"

As she listened on, curious to hear what Sherlock would reply to John with- Molly cleared her throat as she made the mistake of looking behind her as she went through the cupboards and seeing Sherlock's bare chest. It had been a while since he'd lived with her for a little bit. She'd never quite grown accustomed to looking at Sherlock's parts- any of them, without flushing and blushing. Sherlock's eyes fell to the side and looked at her from beneath his lashes, catching her shamelessly staring at him. She felt the heat rise up her throat to her cheeks, quickly she turned back to the task at hand, her hands shaking from being caught.

In the past Sherlock would have taken pompous pride in being oogled at, it made him feel in control and strong. But this had seemingly lost its effect on him, as he thought and felt nothing of the sort as he watched Molly quickly look away, her hands trembling.

Once more Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall forward as he sighed- _what was wrong with him? _When the question popped in his head, the answer was quite clear as he was met with the vision of Madeline sitting on his thighs from the previous night, her light olive skin glowing against the fire as she ran her fingers through his hair. He could still smell her. God how he'd wanted to kiss her then. A strange urge he never thought would overcome him as it had whenever she was around.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?" Sherlock replied with a light jump in his seat. Opening his eyes slowly he came face to face with a confused Lestrade, John, and Molly. Already knowing he was the only one that actually knew what was going on, Sherlock needed to set the record straight before he lost his mind from boredom. "Seriously, you don't see it?"

"See what" Greg replied.

John already had his eyes rolled, as he knew what Sherlock was going to say- as he did, "my goodness, it must be so depressing to be you."

"Yes yes we get it. Now shut up and tell us what's going on."

"E-excuse me." Molly said pushing both men aside as she began to take off his bandage.

"Her nails." Sherlock replied, raising his eyebrows in mock interest. "Didn't you see them? Down to the bone."

"Yeah, so what, she chewed her nails-"

"No not chewed them- JESUS, MOLLY!" He shouted suddenly at the feel of the alcohol burning against his puss filled purple gash that was now oozingly swollen. John couldn't help but have a little smirk on his face at the little moment karma. Sherlock's suddenly loud voice made Molly jump back, "Sorry, do continue." He said casually, utterly oblivious to the effect he was having on her from being such a close proximity- shirtless.

"Yes, yes," Lestrade pushed, "Get on with it."

"They were cut for her." Sherlock said pointing at her hand that lay next to him, lifting her cold fingers to exemplify, "someone sliced them- quite messily as you can see- but painfully down to the bone. This wasn't done to herself though- why would one put themselves through the unbearable agony of cutting their nails so painfully short? And also she is right handed and the cuts on her right hand are consistent with those on her left hand so unless she is secretly ambidextrous- they were done by another. But not while she was alive, after she was dead. You said that she was found in her flat, no struggle, no nothing, just dead on her kitchen floor. My what a marvelous place- I'm sure filled with cleanable non-fabric appliances that are easy to wipe or fix any sort of struggle. As you can see that bruise that formed on the side of her neck is a little hard to create by yourself considering its angle- also considering that it is a major nerve point- if disturbed it could certainly knock someone out in a moment. So, someone clearly with a background of martial arts and has a key to her flat- my guess is on her loner older brother, tried to attack her- she fought back but barely had the chance to before he knocked her out, then while she was unconscious plugged up her nose and covered her mouth until she was as we see her now. Cleaned up a bit, then left."

"Soo…" Lestrade said his eyebrows coming together, "the nails then?"

"Ugh." Sherlock whined, "John, explain."

With a light smile, finally on the same page as Sherlock he explained, "it's cause she must have scratched at him, maybe nicked his skin, got a bit of DNA under her nails, that's why he cut them before he left- to try and get rid of any that might be there."

Turning his sights on Lestrade, Sherlock answered, "I'd check the brother for any hidden scratches, my guess is on his upper arms due to her height."

"…Ah." Lestrade replied.

"Yes, and that's precisely why I didn't even bother. Don't know why you sent me down here- this could have easily been dealt over skype." Sherlock mumbled before closing his eyes, his side feeling immensely better after having his bandage changed with Molly making the finishing touches.

"There we are!" She said cheerily, "all done."

"Thank you, Molly." Sherlock said buttoning up his shirt, paying no attention to Molly's reddened cheeks. "Damn, it's good to be back on something I could figure out so simply."

"No luck on Madeline's case then?" John, Lestrade and Sherlock looked at Molly astonished at her curious question, "oh, well you know she's the one that set me up with Jack, you know-" She said looking at Sherlock, "my boyfriend."

"Ah, yes," Sherlock replied sarcastically, "Doctor Jack. The most boring man in all of London I think."

"Back off Sherlock." John said, "Doctor Jack is plenty interesting."

"Then why don't you get drinks with him on weekends with Stamford and Lestrade?"

"I think this is my cue to leave." Lestrade said backing out of the morgue, before leaving shouting, "I'll be at the yard."

"Well…" Truth was he was a bore, and even John knew it. He just didn't want to upset Molly's new boyfriend- as of course John knew he was a much better alternative than her love life before- dating a psychopathic serial killer and fawning over Sherlock Holmes. Directing his attention at Molly who was beginning to look upset, John reassured her. "He's a great guy. And he's loyal, and funny, and perfect for any girl. Also-"

"Oh, god what?" Sherlock said standing up, shoving on his jacket, "is his genetalia made of gold?"

John had to hold back his chuckle at Sherlock's quip; his intention was to make Molly feel as good as he could for her moving on to Doctor Jack who was a great alternative for her.

"No, but he's a doctor, he has a nice stable life, I've heard him talk many times about how he wants a family-" John continued, he watched with a great look of relief as Molly began to smile at him, beaming with pride at John's comments about the man she was with. Unfortunately, simultaneously Sherlock was growing angrier by the moment- whipping on his scarf. "And any girl he is with is lucky as he is lucky to be with her because I've only seen him date few women at all and he's never anything but a gentleman." At that Molly giggled and nodded. "He's lucky to have you Molly."

But the last phrase was lost on the ears of Sherlock Holmes, who had already marched his way out of St. Bart's.

* * *

**Taxi. **

**Night. **

Silence filled the car on the ride back to 221B. Both men sat in the back looking out their respective windows with the partition up between them and the driver.

"I know you weren't upset because of Molly, were you?"

"What do you mean, John?" Sherlock replied exasperated.

"You know exactly what I mean, Doctor Jack is dating Molly but that's not what has you upset, is it? It's that he used to date Madeline."

At the mention of her name Sherlock looked down for a moment. At his hands, a vivid flash image filled his mind of her hands in his own from the previous night, paint mixing between them. He wiped each of her fingers, one by one-

"Sherlock?" Finally Sherlock looked to John who was giving an expression of utter curiosity, "Where were you just now?"

"I take it back."

"Take it back?"

"Yes, you should have a girlfriend, therefore it keeps you from over-dramatizing the personal lives of others."

"Oh!" John replied shocked at the choice of words with amusement, "So you say you have a personal life now?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and didn't reply. Many more moments passed.

"I can't figure it out, John." Sherlock said solemnly, "her case. It's distracting- she's distracting."

"What do you mean, you were brilliant in there! Back at Bart's-"

"Yes but her case, it's like running up against a brick wall. It's half a cold case, half and active one, and all of the pieces are just laying out there for me to put together-"

"And her, you know she's the one that has to find that last piece you know- that's not on you-"

"Right, well before I could figure it out, or at least do this without it-"

"D'you mean do it on your own?" John replied, "You know you can't do it all on your own, I'm your partner, aren't I? Your blogger?"

"Yes, which reminds me," Sherlock said casually and quickly on a side-note, "When you post this and you decide to call this case Nails, Murders and Tales- I will be ready with my harpoon."

"That doesn't mean you're rusty, or you're 'losing it' Sherlock," John continued, choosing to ignore Sherlock's comment because that was the exact title he was thinking of, "your gift doesn't come and go, it's a part of you."

"Yes, but she's distracting." Sherlock replied frankly, and quite upset, "She's always there, always around, always…" He rapidly moved his hands around his head frustrated, "just, everywhere. Feelings are not an advantage, John, they are a disadvantage, as they have been to me during this case-"

"You know, we've had this conversation before, you always say it's because of the feelings and then I say it's because you **repress** those feelings- since your side of the argument hasn't really been proven, let's just prove mine for a bit, hm? Just try it, stop repressing them! Open yourself up to her. Go for it, mate. You know you are human, whether you like to admit it or not."

Sherlock did not want to tell John that he had gone for it, 3 times in fact, each not getting very far and each leaving him more confused than the last.

"It's not that simple." Sherlock said rapidly, his eyes snapping on John. "I'm not… I'm not made for these sort of things. If I were anyone else- if I were you, being with someone is a simple task, you are the person who is built for relationships, you have the ability to be the other half- to be what is needed. I'm not. To ask me to do that is to ask me to be someone I'm not made to be. It's not what she wants or needs- especially right now."

"Did you ever even bothering asking her?" John countered, "Maybe she's not the kind of girl who wants what's typically expected. She did runaway from her wedding and end up eating half a cake from a water tower as she watched everyone realize she wasn't coming." John looked at his friend compassionately. John always believed Sherlock had a heart- that Sherlock was the rawest nerve who'd been poked and prodded his whole life. He wanted Sherlock to love someone in that sort of manner, he wanted him to find that sort of happiness and fulfillment, but John already knew there was a great possibility that would never happen for the consulting detective. He wasn't like other people. But that didn't keep John from at least trying, "Madeline's not like normal people, Sherlock. She's not a-typical. How do you know what she wants?"

"Because it is basic human nature. It is basic want and need." Sighing, Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, "Her life is in my hands. This has been the most grueling case, not because of the lack of information- no, but because of its pace. It's quick, then slow, quick, then slow- but throughout all of its pacing I can still feel her life slipping through my fingers and I assure you John, I'm not going to take a chance on her life that she might be happy with me after all this effort of trying to save it. It's a dangerous and damaging risk that I'm not willing to take or try out any further." _Than it already has been tried _Sherlock thought to himself.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I'm damaged, John." He said as-a-matter-of-factly, "That's how."

"So, you admit you like her then?"

"Yes, I'll admit I _like_ her." He was too obviously far gone to deny otherwise.

"Love?"

"No."

"And you're sure about that?"

Sherlock turned his sights on his best friend, knowing this would be a disappointment for him, for Sherlock knew John's long-term ambitions he had for him, but it was time he set him straight. "I don't love John. I love very few people in my life and never in the manner in which you're suggesting."

"Did you ever maybe think that she might possibly be the exception?"

"No." As John looked into Sherlock's eyes, he believed him.

They reached 221B.

* * *

**221b. **

Even from outside the front door, both men could hear the piano music playing. It wasn't until they reached the top of the stairs and saw her finish her piece with an immensely quick fouette' fired off in 2 sets of three.

While Sherlock simply stared, his eyebrows furrowed together, John stood and clapped making Madeline turn around absolutely shocked. She's just returned from her all day ballet practice for her first official performance with the company next week and had not expected both men to be back so soon. "I still hate ballet, but that seemed lovely." John commented humourously.

"What are you doing here?" She asked embarrassed, turning off her ihome. "I thought you both were out on a case, it sounded like you'd be out for hours at least. I decided to come here and practice- I got sick of Mycroft's men oogling at me from the windows."

"Ah," John said walking in and taking off his jacket, "Sherlock figured the case out in less than 10 minutes. What did you say it was- a 3 on your scale?"

But Sherlock wasn't paying attention to John's question. His eyes wandered over the whole flat, forcing himself to observe everything else possible except the sweaty Madeline who was still wearing her leotard, her hair falling in strands out of her bun over her flushed face. "What on earth have you done?"

Finally realizing he was addressing her remodeling of the flat, Madeline allowed her eyes to lay upon him, "Oh! Sorry, I usually have it all put back before you get home." Madeline had scooted everything off to the side, including their chairs which were flush against the fireplace in order to give her room to dance. She began to nervously move the pieces back until John insisted otherwise.

"No, you've been hard at work for you big performance, don't worry about it- I'll take care of it. You go take a shower. We'll put them back the way they were."

"Really?" It was no secret to herself that Madeline didn't want to be in the same room with Sherlock Holmes. Even the thought of it made her want to giggle, vomit, and cry from happiness and sadness all at the same time. This was mainly because of what had almost happened, and what she knew was going to happen now between them.

"Yes, of course," John looked at her with an obvious expression on his face, "We do know how to clean our own flat.

With a sigh of relief that she was released from her duties, Madeline replied brightly, "thanks!"

She couldn't get out of there from his presence soon enough.

After she'd ran off to the bathroom and tightly closed the door John and Sherlock paused, looked at each other, then yelled, "Mrs. Hudson!"

* * *

20 minutes later after Madeline finished her shower she stood brushing her hair in front of the mirror in John's room. He'd gone out for drinks with Stamford and usually Madeline would use Sherlock's room- as that was the place where (for some reason) her clothing kept crawling back to, but since the previous night she made no indication of even wanting to be near him.

Her muscles ached from practicing all day, praised greatly for her work by the head of the company- but Madeline knew her new intensity found in her dancing was because each time she jumped and twirled an image and whisper of his breath against her neck filled her memory. So she would jump, twirl, passé, all in order to get away from the memory of what had occurred and how quickly it had ended.

"This is how an angel dies…" Madeline began to sing under her breath, her brush running through her wet hair, "I blame it on my own sick pride." She began to tap her foot and got lost in her below-par singing and held the brush to her lips like a microphone before singing like a rockstar, "I blame it on my ADD baby!"

"You have an awful singing voice."

"Oh Jesus!" Madeline gasped nearly tripping over herself, her brush falling on the floor as she clutched her beating chest staring at Sherlock by the doorway, "Normal people knock you know!"

"The door was open." He shrugged speaking as-a-matter-of-factly. Sherlock looked more casual than she wished to see him. In fact, she would take annoying 5-year-old Sherlock who doesn't have a case over this one- only because she knew what was coming and it shocked the hell out of her.

She began to chuckle nervously, "I can't believe it's you this time."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Pardon? Problem?"

"No, it's just usually after one of our awkward nights, I'm always the one coming up to you asking what the hell is going on and what the hell just happened, but look- it's you."

"I just wish to set the record straight."

"Yes," Madeline said grabbing the brush looking down at it as she began to 'busy' herself with picking her hair out of it, "set it straight then."

"It was a mistake."

"Of course."

"We were acting out of impulsive emotions at the thought that since time was running out, the documents still not found- that death was nearer rather than later for you."

"Uh-huh."

"And now with Michael's new find, our hope is once again restored. That'll probably be the answer to your problem that will lead me to Moran's inner circle and solve this case. THen you can go back to your life, I can go back to mine."

"Right. Yep. Agreed." Madeline replied quickly, now sitting on the bed as she began to roll the hair in a ball between her hands, refusing to look up at Sherlock's emotionless stoic face. Many moments of silence passed. She knew he was still standing there, watching her, "and the day I left?"

This time Madeline looked up, she wanted to see his face at her question and was not disappointed. A flash of shock and surprise as well as confusion flooded him, "What?"

"The day I left, what happened… we went farther then than last night, what's our reason for that?"

He didn't remove eye contact as he spoke just as certainly as he had before, "Because we thought we were certain then that you were never to return. Idiotic sentiment, once again."

"And do you usually make out with people if you think you're never going to see them again?"

She thought her smart comment would render him silent as her heart slowly broke beneath her aching chest but hated that she laughed when he replied softly, "Only the pretty ones."

_Did that just come out of my mouth? _Sherlock thought shocked at his own words, having no idea where they'd come from. Who the hell was he becoming around her? He was grateful that she'd laughed at his comment, and took it as lightly as he'd hoped.

"Good." Madeline nodded taking a deep breath, she could feel her legs begin to shake and was thankful she was still sitting down, "good to know we're on the same page." She would be damned if he saw her weak at his words. Not this time.

"You should know Madeline, I do not love-"

"I know, I know, yes I know. You've said it's not possible for you, I know."

"Yes but… what you said…" He began hesitantly, "at my 'grave'…"

"That was silly, it's because I thought you were dead. Whenever someone dies we always over-exaggerate our emotions for them in grand declarations to cover up whatever guilt was left behind." Madeline smiled at him, "you know it's ok Sherlock, I'm not some dumb little love-sick girl. You should know that I wasn't thinking that about you, I was just… just as you said we were. This wasn't like… a thing. That's not us. We never were, I know that. I mean, come on- you're not even my type." She giggled biting her lip, "you're not what I'm looking for. I mean, look at you. So, don't worry."

_Confirmed. _Sherlock saw the word flash next to her face as it ran through his mind.

During her little declaration, Madeline worried if he could see right through her, but with the expression on his face she was quite certain he couldn't. It was true, matters of the heart were lost on Sherlock. She could see he believed and ate up every word she said. His face did not change, his stance did not alter, he simply nodded his head and cleared his throat. "Good. Back to business then. Just another case. I still keep my promise that I'll do what I can to go after Moran, after all he is after all of our heads- not just yours."

Madeline nodded.

"So if you're done with the shower now."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm done." Madeline answered far too quickly for her own liking, "It's all yours."

After Sherlock had walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, Madeline cursed herself as she felt the tears drip down her cheeks. She blamed no one but herself, she knew who he was, last night was just an experiment that didn't work for him. What he'd just said to her was his truth. She was living in a different world than he was with everything they'd done. She'd become that very same woman that she despised when she looked on- the type that kept coming back like a masochist.

Madeline had resolved herself just weeks ago to focus on herself, and her own life; she'd even given Molly Jack just to help move her on from Sherlock so she could be happier as well. It was then Madeline realized she had yet to treat herself with the same kindness she'd shown others. She'd promised herself before that she would do no such thing, but once more she had fallen through the cracks.

This was not fair- most of all to her. Never again would she fall down the slippery slope to Sherlock. This always seemed to happen and she refused to let it happen again.

Wiping her cheeks Madeline took a deep breath, balance was restored in 221B again. And she would leave 221B with no care for her safety if that balance were even threatened- or tempted to be broken again by herself or by Sherlock. Mycroft's men could follow her to the alleyway where she'd sleep and they could keep watch over her there because she knew there was no reason to fight for her life from Moran if she didn't even bother fighting for her own emotional well-being from Sherlock.

Once more, Madeline Smith continued to grow and flourish into her own fight for her freedom from her heartache, but she still felt no relief.

* * *

**MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMM**

* * *

In the shower Sherlock let the warm water cascade down his chest and back. His eyes were closed, with one arm extended in front of him as he balanced himself against the wall. This was not like him. This was not him. The man who could make the cruelest statements without knowing it was non-existent around her. Just to make sure it was just Madeline that had that sort of effect, Sherlock texted Lestrade with '_Your wife is having you followed by a private detective. Ironic isn't it?' _and of course he felt nothing. Sherlock felt he was helping Lestrade who replied with, '_Thanks for the first part. You're and asshole for the second.' _

But it was with Madeline that…

Sherlock could see her remain strong as he spoke. And when she told him, '_you're not what I'm looking for. I mean, look at you. So, don't worry._' What else had he been expecting? Nothing else, nothing less really, these were facts he already knew about himself. A man with an inability to love anything other than his work was impossible as a human companion. John was the closest. But it still stung him, her words. Shockingly so, as well.

"Foolish, moron." He mumbled beneath the water.

What he'd just done was what was necessary. Was needed. Was non-negotiable.

Who he must remain; not that he didn't remain his typical self to everyone else but little changes in his persona he'd found that came subconsciously around Madeline Smith, the small town American. This was unacceptable. This was probably why the case had been at a deadlock for so long, he resolved.

What he'd done was not only right for him, but right for her.

That didn't relax any bit of the situation on his end. While Sherlock was sure Madeline now would probably feel relief at his declaration of a permanent distance, he was angered and upset to find, once more- that he was not feeling what he'd hoped.

Sherlock still felt the pulling. The aching. The demand of what he must contain and what he must restrain.

He must remain… he must remain.

The tension of such an act mentally and physically was exhausting him… and restraining him.

Sherlock was not ignorant to the ways of the body, it had been a while… but he hadn't felt this need so bad in very long. It was inevitable.

The need for relief was too great.

With his left hand Sherlock grasped himself letting out a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. He could feel himself already pulsating and aching beneath his touch. Slowly he began to move his wrist, feeling his member grow and grow with every pump.

He'd have thought of Madeline, as every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her glowing face against the fire from the previous night, or the feel of her lips against his before she'd left- but his guilt would not have it. Sherlock pushed her from his mind as far as he could, even though knowing the previous night had caused this- he would not use her as a means to an end. Not in this way. Not to her.

The heat of the water was fogging up the bathroom quickly; the liquid felt as though it were boiling as each drop hit the back of his neck and cascaded down his back against his sore skin. His hair was constantly soaked; from between his eyelashes he saw his errant curl before him dripping as he gasped for air. His body growing heated, his temperature rising, his skin burning as his cock begged for release from his hand.

His lower stomach bubble with anticipation, each of his strokes growing more and more with urgency. Finally Sherlock bit his lip nearly drawing blood as he attempted to stifle his groan as he came, his hand drenched in sticky warmness.

Exhaustion immediately filled him as he decidedly sat on the floor of the tub beneath the water, his member becoming flaccid yet still aching. As the water hit his face and chest, Sherlock reached with his foot and slammed the water shut. Laying his head back he closed his eyes as he continued to breath heavily, his body thanking him as it hadn't felt so relaxed in a long while. But as he opened his eyes to look at the ceiling, Sherlock knew this was only temporary- as it always was.

The pain remained.

The sound of Madeline's laughter to John's voice knocked Sherlock out of his thoughts. This was confirmation that business was back to usual at 221B, the tension erased as though nothing had taken place between Madeline and Sherlock- ever. Michael and his husband would be arriving the next day; the case was back on track. Business was going back to the usual.

Madeline Smith was just another client, just as she'd intended to be when he'd sought her out; just as Sherlock Holmes had once intended to be and forced her to be since coming back.

With the exception of the constant threat of Moran, all was right in the world of 221B again.

* * *

**I know, I give and I take away! I'm sorry. But how well can we _really_ trust the narrator?**

**Let's just say I never imagined a simple romance with Sherlock Holmes, if you haven't noticed already ;) It's probably a defined oxymoron, lol. **

**Please comment my lovveesssss! My prrrrrecious'!**


	8. Pressure Rising

**Wow, so gotta say just re-read the last chapter and it was NOT perfect- SO many grammatical mistakes I almost just cried. I wish it hadn't been accidentally deleted when I'd gotten done with my first edits, I just didn't have as much patience the second time around having to go back through all over again. That's the last time that happens, hopefully.**

**Thanks:Empress of Verace, GrilledCheezus, Nippa, HC, Amehhh, sailormajinmoon, LLPottle, and Midnight Valentina f****or your amazing comments! All of your lovely words keep me going and make me want to work hard to keep you coming back to this story for more :) **

**Geronimo!**

* * *

"Sherlock.

Sherlock….

SHERLOCK.

SHERLOCK. HOLMES.

Stop. Acting. Like. A child."

John annunciated to the locked bedroom door of the consulting detective. Michael and Alex would be arriving any moment from the airport and Sherlock had no interest in seeing Michael- who constantly made him uncomfortable with his come-on's. He'd been in there for quite sometime, dreading for the moment to come. It's not that Sherlock didn't have a plan- he had a plan to get him out of the situations that would certainly arise at the hands of the unapologetically flamboyant Michael Barrie- but that didn't mean Sherlock was ready to leave his room quite yet.

"NO." Was Sherlock's childish reply, defeating the purpose of John's comment.

Sighing, John crossed his arms and perched himself against the doorframe, "Though that's not all is it? I mean, if Madeline opens that safe and the documents are in there- that's it. Then the whole case doesn't need her anymore, that's her purpose isn't it? Then the rest is between us, Moran and Mycroft."

No response. John had been trying to entice Sherlock, interest him enough- get some sort of reaction out of him, but it wouldn't take.

"Do you think she'll move back to Colorado?" John pressed, "When she opens the safe, I mean. Go back to her old life?"

No response.

"I for one don't think she will, or at least- I hope not." John paused, "She's like the sister I always wanted but never had. Madeline is one of a kind isn't she? …That reminds me, she ate all of our bread, pasta, and ice cream today, by the way, I think she was nervous about Michael coming here and the safe."

No response.

"Sherlock…" John's tone grew soft and serious, "You can't run away from her forever."

As if right on cue- three new arrivals walked into 221b.

"Oh MY GOSH- This place is so cozyyy!" Michael exclaimed bursting through the door into the living room. John immediately turned around and was greeted with the sight of Michael looking entirely awestruck by the flat. John had almost forgotten that he'd lived with Michael, Alex and Madeline in Colorado only months ago. It had almost all seemed like a forgotten time- the mourning period in which Sherlock was still 'gone.' "Huh! Johhnn!" Michael cooed running towards him, and pulling him into a tight embrace. "How have you been, boo? Last time I saw you, you could barely speak you were so upset. Feel better now that your boyfriend is actually alive?"

John smiled softly with a light chuckle, "Well, he's not my boyfriend, and it's good to see you again Michael."

"If you guys aren't dating," Alex said walking in with Madeline around one of his arms and the other rolling luggage, "Then why do you both live together? Or is it a British thing? Speaking of which, where is this consulting detective? Michael always talks about how hot he is, wanna see him for myself!"

Madeline shuffled from leg to leg uncomfortably, trying not to envy the men for being able to speak about their attraction to him so freely while she had to constantly remain in denial.

To say that overnight she'd grown immensely sensitive to Sherlock's presence was an understatement- and even she knew it. Before she left to the airport Sherlock had mumbled a 'bye' on her way out after John wished her a safe return with her brother; and even that simple 'bye' she'd analyzed meant that they were friends, that he didn't hold anything against her, that they were platonic now, or perhaps he was just being forcibly nice? _It did seem forceful. Oh gosh, what if he thought she was a charity case now? And all of those nights and moment's they'd had together where they almost came together were one sided and he was only remaining and responding politely!? Wait… wait… but then again maybe he just meant 'bye' as though trying to show he that they were still on speaking terms? To create a clearer atmosphere before the arrival of the new clue? Yes, of course, that was it. _And by the time Madeline had arrived to the airport, she'd once more concluded that him declaring the word 'bye' simply meant 'goodbye.'

She felt her mind constantly spinning out of control. A textbook over-thinker, Madeline hated her mind for constantly jumping to such rapid and constant conclusions that were always so far-fetched from the truth. With a light shake of her head, she knocked herself out of her thoughts on thinking too much.

"They live together because they're partners in work." Madeline replied looking at John who gave her a hopeless expression. It seemed he'd been there for hours trying to coax Sherlock out of his bedroom with no luck. Apparently no one had the power to do so. "He can keep hiding his room like a 2 year old for as long as he likes."

"Sherlock," Michael said casually, "If you don't come out here I'm going to find a way to sneak into that apparently fascinating room of yours and jump right into your bed… naked."

It only took 1 second later for the bedroom door to fly open. There stood none other than an already aggravated and determined Sherlock Holmes, wearing his best all black suit with white button up underneath as he always dressed sharply for company, even at 11 in the morning.

"Michael." Sherlock said with a slight nod of his head.

"Hello, darling."

Michael's smile was wide an unafraid; he enjoyed watching the consulting detective squirm. Raising his hand, Michael ran his fingertips along Sherlock's shirt-collar suggestively.

"I'll be certain to lock my door tonight. But there's more than one way to get in." Sherlock replied with wit, making no move or any indication to Michael's come on, shocking everyone as he raised a wicked eyebrow.

Madeline wasn't certain, but she could have sworn she saw Michael blush. Was Sherlock… **_teasing him?!_** No, no no absolutely not. This was unbelievable. Even John raised his eyebrows his surprise at the comment.

Turning to Alex, Madeline elbowed him, hissing, "Come on now, fight for your man!" Perhaps no one other than Madeline was shocked at Sherlock's playful words leaving her brain frustrated, trying to find the answer as she berated herself for feeling envious of her older brother over something so silly. It raced, and raced…. Oh god… it was happening again…

_Remember, he's gay, he's married- he's my brother. Sherlock's straight- er, wait, right? Of course he is! There's no way he's actually serious about this …maybe he's bi? Ohmygosh- WHAT IF HE'S BI!? Wait, calm yourself Madeline, deep breath- it's just one little flirt, your world isn't ending here. _

_And so what if he likes Michael! He'd still choose me! Even though he said he's not into me. At all. But still, he'd choose me!_

_…oh gosh, he wouldn't choose me- even I wouldn't choose me right now. _

_Christ, I'm sweating everywhere. _

_I'm decent looking, I have a nice rack. But then again if he prefers penises I'm all out of tricks there. _

_…I wonder if he likes John's penis? _

_WOE. Ok Christ I just looked at John when I thought that- could he hear me? Fuck! Wait-NO. of course not, don't be silly. He's not telepathic. _

_Though I do like his jumper choice today. _

_Great, now I can't stop thinking about John's penis._

_Ok, I'm sure that Sherlock's not flirting with by brother; and NOOO I will not feel envious at the fact that he's never flirted with me. He's come close, but never actually gotten there as his understanding of any sort of flirting is as dense as a dying sun. _

_Stop now Madeline- come back to reality. _

_Stop overthinking! Stop thinking! _

_…I wonder if John's penis is bigger than Sherlock's. _

_FUCK! _

_…I wish I had some ice cream to talk to about this right now. _

What had felt like an hour in her head was actually 10 seconds in reality, she came right back in just as she heard Michael laugh out loud at Sherlock's daring comment.

"I'm not sure I blame him." Alex whispered back to her. "It's nice to meet you!" He said louder to Sherlock, "since I never thought I would. You know… since you were dead and all. …I'm Alex, by the way-"

"I know who you are." Sherlock said stoically turning to the man. All signs of playfulness gone. It seemed such comments were only reserved for Michael's come-on's. That or perhaps Sherlock didn't want to open the door of possibility of Alex taking the same lead as Michael. "Perhaps you should take Madeline's advice regarding your husband."

"Yeah, hello!" Michael said playfully, "You seriously don't care that I'm flirting with mister dark and mysterious over here?"

"Christ no," Alex giggled, "I mean look at him-"

"Ok!" Madeline exclaimed loudly, "That's enough now!" The strange look of stoniness upon his face matched with the not knowing how to reply was enough to send her over the edge. "Aren't you both married?" Madeline complained, "Come on now, let's be civil. Let's leave him alone."

She swallowed as Sherlock's curious eyes came to rest on her. They seemed burdened by the heavy weight seemingly carried on his shoulders.

"Nah," John joked with a smile on his face, "I'm not sure, I'm quite enjoying this."

"Alright, alright," Michael conceded, "I'll save it for next time, fabulous man." He winked at Sherlock with a little lip bite.

Before Sherlock even began to move out of his room, as he did, Michael backed away. Madeline raised her eyebrows at this- she was expecting him to give Sherlock yet another one of his 'surprise hugs' which were far too long and far too close.

But this time… he didn't.

"Oohhh!" Madeline accidentally exclaimed aloud. She got it now! But at realizing she'd just done so outloud she attempted to look nonchalant as though she'd said nothing; but Madeline didn't not miss the light smirk upon Sherlock's face as he walked past her into the kitchen, throwing a little wink her way- knowing she'd just deduced his new approach to avoidance. He was meeting Michael nearly half way in his come-ons in order to stop them in their tracks. And it worked Biting her lip and shaking her head, Madeline couldn't help but smile, her mind clear with only one thought- _Oh you clever man. _

It was all an act. _...how often does he do these acts?_

"Well then," Alex said, "Shall we get to it?"

* * *

It was 10 minutes later when the group sat around the living room of 221b with the addition of Mycroft as they watched Madeline sit before the safe.

_"You didn't think I would miss this, did you?"_ Mycroft had drawled when Sherlock groaned at the site of him entering the flat. He'd also made it very clear that if in fact, the documents were present in the safe, that they were to be handed over to him quickly and the rest would be taken care of. He'd stood by the living room door and had made his demands calmly, and threateningly.

But all of Mycroft's words were in vein.

Madeline sat on the floor with the safe in front of her. It was 2 feet tall, 1 foot wide, thick, metal, and nearly fully rusted green and brown. It was a 4-part combination lock of 8 numbers. She stared at it.

And stared at it.

…and stared at it.

"…I'm so hungry." Madeline whispered to herself. She felt her newfound confidence in the case slip away right before her. She knew of no code. No numbers. Nothing to fill those empty spaces with. Nothing. And there everyone sat and stood, all eyes on her- and she had nothing to give.

"So," John said to Alex and Michael, "Where did you find this, exactly?"

"Well, we'd kept looking everywhere, all over the house over and over after you guys left. But we couldn't find anything- so Alex had this brilliant idea!" Michael exclaimed, turning to his husband who sat closely next to him on the couch whispering encouragingly, "Tell them the idea."

"Oh!" Alex said, "Right well I thought, hm, there are only so many it could be- where haven't we checked? Then I realized there was the backyard! Then I just bought one of those metal detectors, you know- the ones on the infomercials? And then we found this buried back there _right _next to a pile of bones we'd thought was a human but Michael later told me it was the bones to his late dog, Buddy."

"Fascinating." Sherlock drawled out sarcastically beneath his breath. He rolled his eyes; both of his hands together before his lips under his nose, already 3 steps ahead of everyone else. "How long must we wait here?"

"My mistake." Mycroft said catching up to Sherlock's thoughts. He tipped his umbrella in Sherlock's direction. "Let me know when. I'll be back later, Sherlock. Expect me." And with that, Mycroft turned and walked down the stairs, leaving 221B behind him in yet another fruitless endeavour.

"What? Sherlock, she hasn't even tried." John said, "I don't understand."

"She doesn't know the combination, John." Sherlock stated. Madeline nearly winced at hearing the truth. "It's a 4 part combination. I think all hope came from the idea that the lock might be a classic carved out lock resembling that of the heart necklace pendant around Madeline's neck which would then be the key to such a lock, explaining its meaning and purpose as to why they left it behind for her- but as we can blatantly see, it's not."

"Why don't we just hack it open then?" Alex suggested, "or use one of those electrical saw things? You know, like in the beginning of Titanic?"

It took every ounce of energy in Sherlock's body to not roll his eyes and groan.

"No." John said with a sigh, resolved and disappointed, "It could be rigged. We don't know what that would do. Sometimes these old things have sort of ink devices in them that would explode unless opened properly, ruining all of the contents inside.

"We don't even know if it's the documents that are in there." Madeline said in a whisper, utterly disappointed with herself. Her stomach growled in its need to fill the emptiness in her currently low esteem with anything. There had to be an answer, there had to be a way, but the more she thought- the more she came up blank.

"Don't be sad, Mads-poo." Michael cooed placing his hand atop her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "We'll figure it out. I trust you."

And for a moment, Michael made her feel like it was really going to be ok. And suddenly, as she looked at him, for the first time all day- her mind slowed down. It was as if her brain had broken out of its prison. But the guilt of her inability to open the safe, the one thing she was meant to do- did not give way.

"Can I stay at the Hotel with you both tonight?" Madeline asked quietly. Turning quickly to look at John she added, "Not that I don't like being here I just…" She cleared her throat, "I just need a night away… that's all."

She knew after all that had happened with Sherlock and still being in his presence nearly 24/7 is what's caused her current insanity. The unsuccessful try with the safe wasn't helping. A little distance to get away would help.

John nodded his head with a light smile on his face. No eyes landed on Sherlock as he remained sitting in his chair; no one needed to speak or to even look at him to know Madeline was referring primarily to a night away from _him_. "Of course, do you need me to help you get a taxi?"

"No, no," Madeline said standing up, "It's ok. I'll get it." After slipping on her jacket, she hugged John she said her goodbyes, "I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

Finally turning to face Sherlock, Madeline felt her heart drop to her feet. This was not because he had a look of disappointment, sadness or hurt at her sudden departure- it was the opposite. It was because Sherlock had a look of expectancy on his face- a look that was nonchalant and not surprised; a look that was as though he was waiting for her to finally leave.

"Bye." She said before turning away. "Sorry I couldn't open it." Was the last thing she mumbled before she left 221B for the night with Michael and Alex in tow, utterly unwillingly leaving a small portion of her self-confidence behind.

* * *

**So much fun then yet so much heartache. Poor Madeline, we've all been there. **

**Please do so and comment, it's so easy the box is right below this and to us writers it's like our crack- though much less harmful. **

******Comments are sooooo lovely!**


	9. A Diversion

**Another update! Yay! I'll be updating more quickly now; we're coming on to the home-stretch of part 3! **

**Great big thanks to: HC, GrilledCheezus, Amehhh, Empress of Verace, Guest, and sailormajinmoon for your lovely comments.  
**

* * *

**10 minutes later.**

**Taxi.**

Madeline sat in between the married couple on the silent ride to the hotel. She'd have thought her mind would be running a million miles per hour- attempting to figure out if she knew of any combinations that could possibly work, but she didn't. Not one. All she could feel was the disappointment in herself, and the scorn of Sherlock who (she knew she shouldn't have been surprised to see that ) didn't care where she remained for the night.

_He's probably just happy that he gets his bed tonight since it was his turn to sleep on the couch. _Madeline thought grimly after going into wild thoughts for the past 10 minutes before reaching this conclusion, hating that she was second in someone's life to a mattress.

"Jesus, you got it bad, Mad's." Michael said shaking his head, breaking the silence as he stared at his sister.

"What? What are you talking about, Michael?"

"Sherlock's who I'm talking about. …You really love him, don't you?"

Madeline opened her mouth for her usual quick and witty retort but found she had none, "uhm… well I know I said that back in Colorado but-'

"Yeah but that was after you thought he was dead. When people die we always over-exaggerate out emotions towards them." Michael replied as-a-matter-of-factly. Madeline looked before her and couldn't help but think sadly, that was the exact same thing Sherlock had said. _I'm the only idiot who thinks otherwise. _ "But you really _do._"

"He likes you too, you know." Alex added.

"No, not like the way you think." Madeline countered with a light shake of her head, "Just like another one of his experiments; just another case."

"So you're in love with a sex-god jackass who doesn't love you back?" Alex said casually with a shrug, "That makes total sense."

"Like you said- I'd only said it before cause I thought he was dead. I'm not in love with him!" Madeline finally exclaimed anxiously.

"Aw," Michael cooed with pity not believing a word she said, putting his arm around her, "Sweetie."

The words were hilariously condescending and Madeline's strong demeanor of denial immediately dropped into hopelessness as she sighed, she could feel a headache coming on. She didn't believe her words either.

"Don't worry, Madeline." She could hear Alex say to her as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat, "I think he likes you more than you both know."

"I swear to God," Madeline said tiredly, "If either of you say anything, I'll beat you both up so bad you'll be crying like teenage girls." Insuring their silence on the matter.

"Alright but don't expect me to be afraid…I don't think that's any different than the way I already cry." Michael mumbled.

Madeline couldn't help but give a little giggle. It had been a while. She'd never been more relieved to have her brother by her side in her life.

* * *

**The Next Day**

Greg Lestrade had never felt so giddy than when he would receive a call from Mycroft Holmes insisting he join the younger Holmes and his partner on an exciting case. Granted the backlash was inevitable as Sherlock would see it as a form of _babysitting_ rather than help, he did like to compartmentalize his life, but Lestrade would not be stopped! He had a thirst for adventure.

Having been left out of the Moran/Madeline case for almost 2 years, Greg was finally ecstatic to have the 'go-ahead' from Mycroft. As he sat in the conference room at Scotland Yard, the unopened rusty safe sitting on the table before him- he hadn't felt more included.

"You IDIOT!" Bellowed Sherlock, barging into the conference room with John right behind him.

"And a good afternoon to you too." Lestrade replied casually.

Seeing a fuming Sherlock was nothing new; today he was especially angry and it seemed John was past even attempting to calm his friend down. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

"I'm on the case now."

"No you're not!" Sherlock replied impatiently, his eyes snapping back and forth between Lestrade and the safe, "I specifically told you you're not on it."

"Well, Mycroft thinks otherwise." Greg said with a shrug.

"Why would he do that?" John mumbled confused. "Has something happened?"

"No-" Sherlock attempted to say before Greg raised his eyebrows and contradicted standing up.

"Actually, yes, something has happened. A couple of things, actually. It seems Sherlock's been keeping you out of the loop."

John looked at his partner astonished; with a look of slight regret and worry, Sherlock looked back at John trying to get him to understand, "It was a matter of national security."

"That's bullshit. You never let that stop you before." John was obviously hurt. The awkwardness between both men could be seen clearly. "Thought we were partners."

"We are-"

"Then why are you keeping things from me?" John snapped, "You know the last time that happened- I watched you throw yourself off a building!"

"John, I'm sorry, alright. It's just I didn't want to worry you anymore, ok?" Sherlock began to rock on his legs, looking every ounce of forgiveness. John gave him a curious look, licking his lips and crossing his arms he had to ask.

"What do you mean, worry me?"

Taking a moment Sherlock half rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, "I know how much she means to you and I… didn't want to worry you anymore than you already are. The situation has gotten a bit worse."

Pausing, John looked between the compassionate gazes of Lestrade and Sherlock, "…what do you mean 'a bit worse'?"

"You know that ambassador from Italy who committed suicide last week?" Lestrade inquired, gaining a nod from John, "it wasn't suicide. It was Moran. He was one of Mycroft's allies regarding this case, he agreed to house Madeline once the documents were found considering she's technically an Italian born citizen. Now that he's gone she's got no backdrop for security when it all goes down and this safe is eventually opened."

"Oh…" John replied a little surprised, he'd thought it would be much worse "Is that all?"

The look on Lestrade and Sherlock's faces made his stomach turn, that clearly wasn't it all.

"Madeline's house in Colorado was ransacked to the bone. Not only that but the coffee shop they own- or I suppose once owned now, has been shot to pieces. Three people were killed in the process. Michael and Alex know about both of these things, they just don't have the heart to tell Madeline yet I suppose."

John was entirely worrisome now about the answer to his question again, "Is… that all?"

Pausing for a moment, Lestrade looked at Sherlock who looked away before he answered, "There are hits out for Michael and…"

John waited for Lestrade to continue, but the man only continued to stare at Sherlock. "And?" John encouraged.

"And you," Sherlock replied, finally letting his eyes rest on him, "John."

"M-me?" John was confused, that much was certain, "But why me? I don't even… I don't understand, you're the one who's basically in love with her!" He shouted at Sherlock.

Lestrade's shocked face seemed to fill the room as he looked at Sherlock wide-eyed, the consulting detective rolled his eyes and looked away, "What? Really? Sherlock, are you in love?"

"No. I'm not in love." He snapped, "You've been chosen John because of me, and Michael surely for Madeline. Distractions. Don't worry though, doubt he'll actually kill one of you."

"Oh great, wonderful," John mumbled sarcastically, "now I feel better."

"Moran's up to something, that much is certain. It doesn't make sense why he'd put a hit on both of you." Lestrade said, placing his hand atop the safe, "Mycroft seems to think it's a diversion for him to get his hands on Madeline-"

"That's obvious." Sherlock replied snootily making Lestrade roll his eyes before replying.

"So we're putting even more men on her, this time from my end. She won't even know they're there."

"I don't trust your men." Sherlock said sternly, "Who are you even putting on her? Hm? Donovan and Anderson? She'll surely be killed then."

"No, don't worry now, they were top recommended. She has three groups of eyes on her, Mycroft's men, your homeless network, and my two men- the likeliness of Moran getting to her are slim at best. Just keep her in the same routine of the gallery and ballet and she should be fine."

"Ohhh, I wouldn't underestimate Moran too quickly," Sherlock said with a coo, "he's less subtle than Moriarty but is just as clever."

"I'd have to agree with that as well," John said, "He's getting away with things just the way Moriarty would except he's more… insane, I think. If that's even possible. I mean, Sherlock, you did force the hand of his lover into suicide, but then again listening to you talk for a bit does that to a person. Do we know what this Moran fellow looks like?"

"Well, that's the difficult part- we don't actually know anymore." Lestrade sighed, pulling out a file and handing it to John, "Finally found a picture of him, dishonorable-discharge. He's an army man turned assassin. Once he came into contact with Moriarty he was clever enough to change his appearance…"

"Hm…" John mumbled as he flipped through the confidential documents and photos, "He got some of the same exact training as me. ...you know those eyes look a bit familia-"

"Yes, well," Sherlock interrupted snatching the file out of John's hand quickly and handing it back to Lestrade, "We'll be taking the safe back now and be on our way."

"Right well, you just be careful now, it's rigged with some sort of acid if it's not opened properly." Lestrade warned as Sherlock picked the safe up and then handed it to John who rolled his eyes at the action, "You let me know as well when it's opened now. Poor Madeline, related to that psycho Moriarty and all of this business about her- all the secrets of her past and all of the danger of her future- and worst of all she has to live with _you_!" Lestrade exclaimed with a half smile on, curious to see the consulting detective's reaction.

Sherlock frowned right then with offense written all over his face before promptly leaving the office at Scotland Yard, John bouncing behind him trying to keep up.

* * *

It was a strange sight for John.

Sherlock sat at the table in the living room on his computer, typing away on his website, looking through his emails, searching through the blogs as though nothing new or interesting had just happened. John was watching him from his own chair in absolute awe and confusion, his eyes moving between the consulting detective and the safe that sat on the floor, still unopened.

"What are you doing, exactly?"

"I'm looking for a case, what does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock replied, his eyes not moving from his own computer screen. "Once more, another useless question.

"Yeah, but you know what I mean, don't pretend like you don't know what I mean. You should be in your mind palace now, looking for answers to this safe."

Sherlock continued typing, his profile unchanged, "Hm." He replied, before continuing entirely off topic, "a six-year old girl says her dolls come to life as she sleeps. Interesting. …Either she is watching far too much Toy Story, or someone is giving her a hallucinogenic…."

"Or she's just schizophrenic." John replied restlessly, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"I'd have to agree with that. Most likely right given her awful punctuation and typo's that's very likely due to shaky hands from her medication. Oh goodness, how dull," Sherlock drawled out monotonously, "if only more parents would just give their children a little bit of drugs for some marvelous mysterious reason to make my life more interesting-"

"JESUS, SHERLOCK- THE SAFE. THE CASE. MADELINE. MADELINE'S CASE. The hits? He's obviously trying to get to her now -" John finally shouted at the top of his lungs, his arms vaulting in the air with impatience at the unbelievable denseness of his partner. "Does that mean anything to you!"

Sherlock didn't even look John's way at his outburst as though he hadn't even heard it; he took a pause before closing the computer and sighing, "Nothing. Nothing new at all. Goodness, how boring London's become. Where's Mrs Hudson? I haven't made her cry by deducing who she's sleeping with this week, that should be entertaining for about 3 minutes-"

"Sherlock, did you hear what I said?"

Standing up and straightening his jacket, Sherlock replied tauntingly, "Oh I think the whole neighborhood heard what you said."

"And?"

"And what?" Finally Sherlock looked down at his sitting companion with a look of false expectance on his face, "She doesn't know the combination, John. This is not the most important thing in the world-"

"No but Moran is, and this case, and Madeline are your key to him-"

"Yes, but there is no safe as of now, and there won't be until she figures the combination. Therefore, all is as it was before… except now we have two men who's advances already have me beyond the realm of inappropriate discomfort." Walking into the kitchen he added, "Luckily I have a new method that seems to be working quite well so far."

"What are you doing?" John inquired with a point of his finger towards the bread in Sherlock's hands.

Looking at him like he was mad, Sherlock replied, "What does it look like I'm doing John? Feel free to deduce the complexity of making a turkey sandwich and made sure to mention it in your blog."

"You're eating."

"Well done."

"You never eat."

"That's not quite true."

"Something's bothering you…." John said curiously, "Or rather, not bothering you. You only ever eat when you're not deducing, not thinking about a case. But that doesn't make sense since before we even had this safe, you were barely eating then and nearly beating yourself up because Moran was ahead of you- the case was ahead of you that that worried you that you hadn't figured it ou-" Closing his eyes with a snap, John exhaled as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks, "That's why you're eating. My god, Sherlock, you figured it out didn't you?"

John opened his eyes to watch Sherlock take a bite of his sandwich as if he'd heard nothing.

"You know the combination, don't you? We have to be steps ahead of Moran now, that's why you're eating- you know things now don't you? Something about looking at that safe indicated to you what the combination was?"

"Naturally." Sherlock replied, "It's quite simple, John."

"So bloody well open it!"

"Mmmm-no." He said with eyebrows raised.

"What? What the hell is wrong with you? Moran threatened to kill her so long as those documents weren't found!"

"And the other end of that statement is more of a possibility- that once the documents are found, she will certainly be killed."

"So, so," John said quickly with annoyance, "What is this then? We just leave the safe unopened, the documents sitting in the middle of our flat until Moran dies or just decides to not avenge the psychotic, dead, consulting criminal who just happened to be the love of his life?"

"No, not exactly." Sherlock swallowed. It had truly been a while since he'd had a proper meal of any sort, his stomach felt heavy at the feeling of the bread dropping into it. "We just need him in a vulnerable position."

"I…" John replied in disbelief, "Oh my god, I don't believe it. So you're going to use her as bait… again. Do you realize how much of a gamble this is? If one thing goes wrong- ONE MISTAKE, then we've basically sentenced her?"

"We don't have any other choice, John. This is the only one that ensures her life to the greatest probability. It is the third option that Moran hasn't realized is there yet."

"She's a HUMAN, Sherlock. She's a human being and you're treating her like a worm at the end of your fishing pole."

"She's a means to an end."

"SHE'S-" John nearly jumped out of his chair in anger not only at Sherlock's words, but in the manner he spoke them in. It was as if the Sherlock that had existed with Madeline for the past month wasn't even around anymore. If Sherlock had any feelings towards her or the situation whatsoever, he was certainly doing one hell of a job in acting otherwise. "You said you liked her. Yesterday, in the taxi, you said you liked her."

Shrugging Sherlock replied with utter obviousness, "I also like Angelo for giving me free food whenever I ask for it, but you don't see me putting myself or my cases out of my way in order to accommodate him."

"You…" John said breathlessly, standing up and walking a few steps with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine build in his head as he found himself wanting to utter those words- those same words he'd sworn he'd never say to Sherlock ever again. The same words that had haunted him for a year during his best friends death. But this was too much, Madeline meant too much to John- and at least he was sane enough to admit it. And Sherlock was outwardly admitting to putting her directly in harms way again- him only simply waiting for Moran to take notice of such an opportunity. "_You **machine**_."

The flash of surprise in Sherlock's stoic eyes could not be missed, or hidden. If Sherlock was a machine, which in that moment he felt like one, that flash in his eyes was the only certainty both of them had that he was not.

"You're putting her in front of the firing squad. Again." John said disbelievingly, "you're knowingly doing it and I can't- I just, I can't believe you."

"Like I said, this is the closest way we can keep her alive."

"By putting her in harms way?"

"Harms way- yes, alright, but she won't be at deaths door. And as long as I keep getting updates on her every move from Mycroft's men, my homeless network, and us keeping an eye on her when she's around- nothing terrible will happen. He'll come out, try to get her- and we just have to make sure that he won't! His patience will run out and his judgement will then be clouded- his impatience is his greatest weakness and we're going to play towards it. Don't you see!" Sherlock said excitedly, "We need to bring Moran out of hiding and on our terms."

Shaking his head, John didn't like the shakiness of the plan, "This is madness, the chances are slim- she has a right to know. I'm going to tell her, Sherlock."

"No, you won't." Sherlock replied sternly. "If you want her to live… you won't say a word to anyone. This is our only option, John."

Once more John was in an uncomfortable position between Madeline, Sherlock, and the truth.

"You're not a machine, by the way." John added after a few moments of silence, his anger wearing thin to sadness, "It's just… sometimes it's hard to tell the difference with you. …I hope you know what you're doing, Sherlock. I don't want to bury another friend- and for real this time."

With that he walked out of the kitchen and made his way upstairs to his room, leaving behind Sherlock Holmes sitting on his own, as he took the last bite of his sandwich alone in silence.

* * *

**I should inform you all- this is the beginning of a VERY big climax. **

**That's all I'm really going to say on the matter trollololololol**

**Hope you enjoyed! **

**Please comment cuz I love it so so much xoxo **


	10. John-Block

**Here's a special edition of me answering back to all of my lovely commenters on the last chapter because I love you all so much!**

**Empress of Verace:** You feel intensity? *brings you more intensity*** Mwahaha

**sailormajinmoon:** Thank you! OH! and by the way, regarding your Moran theory- Oh wait I don't have enough spa-

**Grilledcheezus:** Thanks! Yes John has a very particular sound to him, I call it hedgehog-sexy. There's plenty more suspense to come…

**Nippa:** I know, right? Poor John… poor poor John. :( My bb made of kittens is not doing well in this part.

**Amehhh:** You must handle, You must endure for this part is almost finished! But I will warn you to keep a bag to breath into during the last chapter...

**HC:** YOU'RE amazing. I can't wait to post each time so we're both impatient for my horrible patience. Wait...

**Misplaced Levity:** Thanks so much! Yeah the build up between Madeline and Sherlock has been take a step forward- but then take 2 steps back again. Sherlock Holmes is so complicated I get your poor heart, lol. But I'm happy to say we're out of the grub for the remainder of the series, no more back and forth- _really_, it's going to be going in one direction now that all the information is there now. It's out in the open if u… know what I mean ;)

**SanityisOverratedXD:** *blushes* clever clever readers

**MonzaBird:** Thank you! And you have more now it's very exciting I'm excited for us

* * *

The next day Madeline had decided to take Alex and Michael along with her to one of her last rehearsals before her opening performance, which would be happening the next night. She found when she was dancing it was easy to get lost and forget about the conundrum that was her life, but the moment she stepped out of that studio the reality would come crashing down at her all at once, and that had every bit to do with the fact that everywhere she went she was being watched and followed.

Mycroft's men were on the tops of the buildings, attempting to blend in with their surroundings, Sherlock's homeless network sat on street corners and always managed to convince some money out of her every time they saw her, and finally Lestrade's 2 men (who were perhaps the most obvious) would follow Madeline a couple of yards back, dressed from head to toe in black and completely obvious sunglasses and ear pieces. In Madeline's opinion- they were the worst of the lot.

"Hello, boys!" Michael cooed as he waved to the sniper guard that sat atop a flat building watching them walk by, much to their surprise the sniper actually waved back.

"Michael, we have to look natural." Alex scolded, "But he is really cute, I'll give you that."

"Well, don't worry about it, we don't look natural at all, to any idiot within a miles radius of me is going to know that I'm being followed and watched- HEY," Madeline said turning around, facing one of Lestrade's men who had gotten way too close and accidentally stepped on the back of her shoe. "Do you mind?! Do you even know how to do your job properly? Is stealth NOT in your handbook?!"

Madeline had officially lost her cool. On top of Sherlock once more treating her like a walking disease, her worry of the safe, her nervousness for the performance, and being watched like a politician- her kindness and patience had officially ran out.

"Woe!" Michael exclaimed, pulling her away from the man, who looked surprised at her outburst. Michael knew very well of Madeline's temper and did not want to subject the oblivious detective to her wrath. "Let's go inside shall we? Hm?" He and Alex began walked Madeline towards the stairs of 221B as they approached it, but her anger and frustration did not seem to relax, "Let's ask John to make us some tea, hm?"

* * *

"Hey, Madeline! So excited to see my first ballet tomorrow." John exclaimed as he watched her walk into the living room. He was not, however, surprised to see her throw her duffle bag angrily on the ground with a scowl on her face. She went straight to the refrigerator to attempt to eat her anger away. Michael and Alex walked in behind her hesitantly, she'd given them quite a fight up the stairs.

"So, they don't have to watch her go to the bathroom too, right?" Michael questioned as he and Alex sat down at the living room table, facing John.

"Listen, I know it sucks now, but this is the best set up we have." John said softly as he watched Madeline go through the contents of the fridge, not even caring that there was an arm wrapped in napkins sitting right above the fruit drawer. He'd felt guilt ever since the previous night in which Lestrade and later Sherlock told him everything John had been waiting to hear only to realize he wish he'd never known it in the first place. He vowed he'd try to never question Sherlock not telling him specific information again. "Hey! How about you come along on our next case!" he exclaimed. It wasn't much of a way to make it up to Madeline, but it was something to change her routine and get her mind off of all that was happening to her.

"No, thank you. I've had enough with suits today." Madeline said as kindly as she could, drinking some of the lemonade Mrs. Hudson had made before cringing, setting the glass down on the counter she grimaced, "Aw man! It's no sugar." She added upset, "Now I'm going to be peeing forever."

"What every single man wants to hear." Michael commented sarcastically, Alex and him giggled at her scornful face.

"_Isn't she lovely," _Alex sang teasingly. _"Isn't she wonderful!"_

Madeline picked up a dried up thumb off the counter and threw it at Alex.

"Ew! Gosh, gross! Off! Off!" Alex flicked it off his lap onto the floor, "Thank god that Sherlock's cute, cause if he wasn't he'd be unbearable."

"That must be what's keeping John here," A voice said suddenly. Sherlock entered 221B quite stealthily; finally his eyes fell to John playfully knowing it would annoy him, "My rugged good looks, right John?"

"Hahahaha" John replied with a false laugh before adding bluntly, "Go screw yourself, Sherlock."

"Come along, we've got a case." Sherlock said popping the collar of his trench, pointedly ignoring Alex, Michael and Madeline.

"Oh, ok I'll get my jacket!" Michael exclaimed.

"No, not you," Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, you mean me!" Alex said, knowing it would piss him off.

"Not you either!" Sherlock snapped once more impatiently, his eyes whipping sharply from one man to the other.

"Fine, but Madeline's coming." John said folding up the newspaper, standing up and stretching his back.

"**What?**" Madeline and Sherlock exclaimed simultaneously looking at John incredulously.

"Yep. She needs to get out of the grub. She needs to be out there and be active regarding the cases a bit. Standing around and waiting is more fearful than seeing the fear itself.

"Uhm, no, that is not happening." She insisted.

"Absolutely not, John." Sherlock made clear.

John simply sighed as he casually put on his jacket, looking at both of his roommates without a care in the world and cleared his throat, "Yes, she is."

Sherlock squinted his eyes at John in absolute and utter protest making it silently clear to everyone in the room that there was no way in hell he was ever going to allow that to happen.

* * *

10 minutes later at Bart's hospital, John, Lestrade, Molly, Sherlock and Madeline stood around the body of a Monica Kafir, a middle aged female brought in dead by unknown circumstances. Sherlock was bent over the body with his magnifying glass as he moved from body part to body part, analyzing each section.

Silence filled the morgue.

John had his arms crossed as he stood next to Lestrade who was biting his lip, this was routine for them as they waited for Sherlock to finish. Molly would usually take to her place during the routine- watching Sherlock's every move with eyes wide and her breath held. But this time her eyes whipped back and forth between Sherlock and Madeline.

Madeline, who was standing impatiently with her arms crossed, foot tapping, and constant watch checking did not seem pleased to be in the middle of a morgue for one reason or another. The reminder of the dead bodies sent shivers up her spine that she could be in Monica's place next. What was even worse was that Madeline shamefully found herself envious of the dead woman Monica, because she was receiving more attention in those 5 minutes from Sherlock than Madeline had received from him all week.

More moments of silence passed.

"We almost done here yet?" Madeline demanded. The dead bodies surrounding her made her beyond a little uncomfortable.

No one answered her. The silence continued.

"So, uhm," Molly's soft voice lightly echoed, worlds different in comparison from Madeline's loud demanding tone as she turned to her, "are you excited for your performance tomorrow?"

"Oh!" Madeline perked up at the question with a smile on her face, the change of subject brightened her spirits suddenly and greatly. "Yes! I mean, I only get one solo and that's it, you know no group pieces. It is my first time. Wish you could make it, but you're doctors so that's a little more important," The girls giggled, "And you know it's not so much a solo as I get to dance with the lead male dancer, but still it's the main dance piece in the production which is really cool!"

"Oh that sounds so exciting!" Molly exclaimed with a wide smile, "Who else is going?"

"John's going-"

"Oh, I'm going too!" Greg said raising his hand with an excited smile. "The misses would tag along but she's… busy."

Sherlock snorted as he lifted the woman's arm.

"What about you?" Molly asked softly with a light smile looking at Sherlock's bent over back, "Are… are you going?"

Many seconds passed as Sherlock continued to observe Monica's fingernails, he didn't reply.

"Yeah," John finally spoke for him, "yeah he's going."

"Oh, wow!" Molly exclaimed, "I never thought you'd be the kind of person to go…" She blushed just at the mention of being able to speak about him in his presence, "Will there be a recording of it, Madeline? I'd love to see it!"

"Oh good god," Sherlock drawled out, rolling his eyes as he stood up and turned to them, "do you all mind?"

"Any theories?" John inquired.

"Nope." Sherlock replied simply, sticking his magnifying glass in his pocket.

Lestrade looked at him astonished, "What? Really?"

"I don't have _theories_- I _know_ how she died. And I know _who._" Sherlock said with an arrogantly excited smile, John's eyes unable to resist from rolling. "It was Moran."

Suddenly the room stilled.

Madeline's heart nearly stopped at the sound of his name, "What?" She said breathlessly.

The room was silent with worry. He didn't need to turn around and see her face to know exactly what she looked like- the fear and sadness she'd have in her eyes. Instead Sherlock threw a glare in John's direction that indicated this was _exactly_ why he didn't want Madeline there.

"Monica was a prostitute. But that doesn't make sense for Moran because, as we all know- prefers male company." Sherlock began to explain his deductions as he walked around her in order to face everyone, "But under her fingernails were little dots that can only be made by a syringe-" Madeline winced at the thought, "She was poisoned, but very cleverly so, as she was a heroine addict so no one thinks to look at the details of the injections under her nails- just assuming they are of heroin rather than the poison which creates a slight puss like substance at the end rather than the light purplish hue heroin injections make. And I think you'll find that Kafir is not her last name."

Everybody looked at him in confusion, "Who is she then?"

"She's Monica Rochester." Sherlock said proudly that he'd figured out her identity so quickly, "Thought her eyes looked familiar. She used to work with Mycroft in the government years back. She's had heavy plastic surgery since working for Moriarty first, then for Moran. She was an aid before her addiction became too much for her to afford and her special skills and knowledge were needed elsewhere that would pay much more handsomely. Well, for a while, at least."

"Should we tell Mycroft then?" John inquired.

"I'm sure he already knows."

"So if she was so valuable, why kill her?" Madeline asked, "That makes no sense."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "in her case it doesn't really matter. Moran didn't want us to know he knew her, or that she worked for him which makes her purpose to him regardless." he snapped off his latex gloves and threw them in the trash, Madeline crossed her arms disapprovingly at Sherlock's coldness. "All that matters is he's needing less and less workers by his side, that means there's a certainty there…" Sherlock paused, "He's getting ready to make a move. And soon."

"Uhm…" Molly said worriedly, turning to look at Madeline who looked like she was about ready to throw up under the pressure, "Maybe performing tomorrow night might not be such a good idea."

"What?" Madeline exclaimed, "Oh man, I hate my understudy. There's no way I'm letting her have opening night!"

"Is it cause she called you a fat American?" John inquired.

"Possibly." Madeline added embarrassed, "And I'm not fat so I don't know where she's coming off."

"Well, this is a greatly interesting conversation." Sherlock said sarcastically, "Madeline will be fine to perform tomorrow." John and Lestrade gave him a pointed look, "Oh don't worry I'll bring in more of Mycroft's men." Madeline groaned. "This is good news." He smiled, "He might finally come out and play."

John's heart dropped as he was the only one who knew this was just another step for Madeline to be Sherlock's bait, yet again.

* * *

That evening the taxis were split as Alex and Michael took one to the hotel from 221B, and Madeline, Sherlock and John took one back to 221B from the morgue. Madeline sat in between both men uncomfortably. She could feel Sherlock's long thigh rubbing up against her own by the sway of the car. It took everything in her not to slap it away from her. John sensed her uncomfortable position, taking it upon himself to wrap his arm around her shoulder and tuck her into his chest, moving her towards him and subconsciously farther away from Sherlock. John cleared his throat casually as Madeline thought nothing of it except that she was a little further away from Sherlock's intoxicating smell.

The consulting detective continued to look before him, not out the window and most certainly not at his two flat mates who were getting cozy. No, straight ahead at the back of the driver's neck was where Sherlock was staring, and where his eyes would remain. It wasn't that he was upset… no, not _upset,_ exactly, but for the first time ever Sherlock had never wanted to punch John Watson more than he did in that moment.

So he felt violent. Yes, that was the word that Sherlock would refer to in that moment. Violence was devoid of emotion.

John silently noticed Sherlock's jaw clench and his eyes grow dark. John didn't need to be as clever as the detective to see the anger hidden beneath every crevice of his face. He couldn't hold back the little smirk on his face as an idea came to mind- just because Sherlock was certain he should continue to repress didn't mean John couldn't shove his _repression _in the right direction. "So, Madeline, I was thinking, you have that performance tomorrow and you have an early call to rehearse all day anyways and since it's your night to sleep on that lumpy couch- that can't be any good for your muscles to ready you for tomorrow. So why don't you just come up and sleep in my bed for once, hm? Clean sheets, I promise. That way you can be well rested for tomorrow."

Sherlock remained silent.

"That sounds really nice, actually," Madeline replied relieved, entirely oblivious to the undercurrent power conversation that was happening between the two men. "But we don't want your shoulder acting up from that awful couch."

"Aright then…" John said, doing his best not to smirk as he had the conversation just right where he wanted it, "Why don't we share the bed then?" John could swore he saw steam coming out of Sherlock's quickly reddening ears. "Come on, we're close enough, aren't we?"

"Well, yeah," Madeline smiled, happy she'd have a nice mattress to sleep on that night, "yeah we are! Wow, thanks John, that's so sweet of you." Thinking nothing more of it.

Placing a kiss on her forehead to seal the deal, John smiled widely as Sherlock burst out of the taxi cab when the pulled up to 221b. He quickly turned to face them as he bent over the door, his clear blue eyes burning with anger as shouted, utterly offended, "**There is nothing wrong with the couch!**" before slamming the taxi door shut again.

His two flatmates sat in a moment of astonished silence.

"…Boy he really likes the attention, doesn't he?" Madeline asked softly.

* * *

So far, Sherlock had stuck to his own word. He stared at his ceiling knowing that John and Madeline were comfortable and already asleep in the doctor's room.

On a mattress.

_Together. _

Sherlock knew for certain that John and Madeline were like brother and sister, but it didn't mean he liked them sleeping next to one another because….

_Because….? _

Of reasons.

_Because of reasons._ That was his intellectual conclusion.

And no matter how much Sherlock wanted to 'accidentally' set John's whole room on fire- he resisted. Sure, he got out the matches and bottle of vodka he'd stored away for such an 'emergency'- but he did not use them.

No he did not.

This time, Sherlock Holmes would maintain.

He would remain calm and clear minded. So instead he resolved to keep them by his bedside just in case any unsavory noises were to be heard.

He did not see this as an unreasonable compromise.

* * *

"I feel bad." Madeline whispered as she and John lay in bed facing each other on their sides. "I mean… I think he's upset about this. He's always been really possessive of his 'things' and I hate to say it but we're both sort of his 'things' so now that we're leaving him out- I think he feels left out."

"So?" John shrugged. He cared deeply about his friend, but was not going to encourage his idiocy. Also, the fact that Sherlock was using Madeline as bait again and the fact that Sherlock KNOWS the combination to the safe- gave John a great need to extract some sort of revenge in some sort of manner. This was the best way possible

But he didn't need to let Madeline in on his little manipulating scheme of the detective. "You need your sleep for tomorrow. You need to sleep comfortably, he knows that and he didn't offer up his bed to switch tonight for him to be on the couch instead."

"Yeah, that's true. Oh well," Madeline smiled, "He's ignored me all week so it serves him right to be the third wheel for once rather than having the world revolve around him." A few moments of silence passed. "Hey John?"

"Hm?"

"Do you… you know, want a wife?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her question, "You know, and kids? Or do you want to do this for the rest of your life?"

Sighing conflicted, John replied, "Well, I know I want a wife, I know I want kids, but… I also want this. I think I'd go mad without the excitement, without the adventures with Sherlock Holmes. I'd like to have all three but what sort of wife would be ok with me having a job like this?"

"Right but you're helping people, like police officers have wives."

"Yeah, you're right but it always manages to be far more dangerous with Sherlock," John sighed, "It's just a matter of finding the right woman first, then I'll worry about everything else. Particularly, before worrying about her approving of my job- I'll be worrying about her approving of my best friend."

"Yeah, Sherlock has a way with women. Either they're like poor Molly and they're entirely head-over-heels, or they're like Irene Adler and think he's a sexy trophy that's a challenge to try and win, and then there's everyone else which we can exemplify by all of your girlfriends- in which they hate him."

"Well, then there's you." Madeline looked at him, shocked at his bold comment, "You're sort of your own little mix when it comes to him."

"Well there's Mrs. Hudson." Madeline added, doing her best to take the subject off of her and Sherlock Holmes, "Don't think there's anyone like her when it comes to him."

"Well, Mrs Hudson, yes but… I haven't met her or really heard of Mrs. Holmes much- but maybe Sherlock's Mom?"

"He has a mom?!" Madeline exclaimed shocked looking at John with wide disbelieving eyes.

Suddenly the two broke out into laughter at the thought- of course it was obvious that the Holmes boys, as well as every living creature- had parents. But even the idea of Sherlock Holmes having a mother who probably used to dress him, yell at him, and stain his cheeks with her lipstick kisses that only a mother could embarrass her son with, made them laugh harder than they had in a long while. Neither could contain it really, the more they thought about a young teenage Sherlock blushing while having to wear the awful sweater his 'mummy' picked out for him during their Christmas party, the harder they laughed.

Their noisiness did not go unheeded as only seconds later did none other than Sherlock himself burst through John's bedroom door looking like an utter madman, with matches in one hand and a bottle of Vodka in the other. His hair a mess and his robe crumpled as he watched them laugh with wide eyes, his appearance only adding to their humourous state. "What's the problem, Sherlock?" John joked.

Sherlcok found no humour in John's comment. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!" He demanded, utterly unhappy that they were laughing and enjoying themselves.

"Oh shove it, Sherlock." John said as they caught their breath, he purposely ran his hand through Madeline's hair, which she thought nothing of as it was commonplace for John to do, but Sherlock's eyes widened threateningly at John at purposeful the action. "You don't sleep for 3 days at a time, and you slept last night, so nice try. Now bugger off, we're trying to get some sleep up here. _You're_ not invited."

Looking as though he was about ready to explode, Sherlock growled and slammed the bedroom door shut. Madeline looked to John worriedly, "Yikes, do you think he knows we were laughing at him?" Entirely missing the point of his anger. To her, she took him at his word. Sherlock was neutral towards her and she was the one in an emotional conundrum towards him- but John was the only one who knew otherwise.

"I think that was less of his concern over the fact that we were laughing at all." John replied with a smile. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"He came in here with the items and intention to end us all."

"Meh. He's just being dramatic. He is a bit of a drama-queen. I don't think he's that upset honestly-"

But John's sentence was cut off by the sounds of an angry violin playing Mozart's Symphony no. 25 in G minor furiously.

As Madeline sighed in worry, not wanting the tensions in 221B to rise anymore than they already were, John laid back with both hands behind his head and smiled, his foot tapping along to the irate song being played by the angry detective below. But no matter how happy John felt at his success of his little revenge... he knew too much.

* * *

**Alright, I know this chapter didn't seem very action-y, but _trust me_- it'll all come together by the end. This chappy is super-duper important and it will all make sense by the end! This one and the upcoming chapter are what set up every little detail that happens in the final chapter- which is only one more away- ****there's only 2 chapters left in this part**! 

**Reminder, in case you didn't notice, the song Sherlock is playing is the title of this part. You can find the song on youtube and a link to it on my profile page here!**

**Comments are cherished. **


	11. An Overdue Astonishment

**HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! ****Alright, so I'm actually really nervous about posting this chapter! It's… sort of a game changer.**

**So I hope I don't let any of you down. **

**I want to thank: ****ThereAre666Ways2Love****, ****kayriggins****, GrilledCheezus, Nippa, ****Empress of Verace**** , ****sailormajinmoon****, HC, and ****Amehhh for your awesome comments on the last chapter! ****And a warm welcome new readers and followers and commenters! **

**(Warning: This chapter is a touch longer than the last.)**

* * *

**The Final Performance- Part 1**

* * *

Madeline stood by the curtain chewing on her bottom lip as she looked around nervously. The ballet was 3/4 done, the performers on stage were continuing their ensemble piece. She'd watched this particular dance a million times, she practically knew every step- but that was only because they were performing the dance that led right into her piece… the one she'd be going on for in any minute.

"You keep doing that, your lipstick will run off."

With a tilt of her head and sass in her hips, Madeline slowly turned disbelievingly at the comment to face Lestrade's 2 men with a scowl on her face, "You mind not being so close? Or do you plan to prounce on the stage with me as well?"

Both men took a cautious step back, not wanting to anger her again. They'd been on the wrong end of her temper before and it was not pretty.

Madeline sighed satisfied, turned back towards the stage and continued to watch. Her leotard was riding up and it took every ounce in her not to pull it out. The nervousness was getting to her. She was going to go on in less than 3 minutes and her mind was racing a lightyears at a time- and yet it had nothing to do with the performance- but everything to do with Moran.

Madeline's eyes searched and searched the audience achingly, looking to try and find where Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Michael and Alex were sitting- but the house was too dark. She couldn't see anything but black beyond the bright lights of the stage. It was like she was going to be performing for ghosts.

Her heart felt like it was beating straight to the outside of her chest.

Before arriving at the theater, John had done everything he could to reassure her _there's no way we're going to let anything happen. _But the sad twinkle in his eye told her that even that was too grand a promise for anyone to make- no matter how hard they tried. Sherlock hadn't even bothered to speak to her before her performance. She didn't know if he hadn't done so just in case something hurtful came out of his mouth- but ever since he'd "reminded' her nearly a week ago after they'd almost kissed (or had gone farther) that he was incapable of love and everything they'd done was 'foolish impulse'- he'd managed to keep his icy distance quite well.

_Just like old times. _

Not that Madeline was complaining. Sherlock's cold reserve towards her the past week had taken her out of her _lust after Sherlock_ fog (now wanting to get the idea of her love for him out of her conscious as best as she could), and had now put her back into perspective of her life and where it was headed- which was possibly no life at all. A life cut short. She supposed she should have thanked him but the only thing he was interested in hearing from her lately were her whereabouts and continuously making sure she let him know everywhere she was. More times than not she felt like a child that needed to be watched over and he was her pissed off nanny who hated his job at having to watch her.

She felt no loss in losing Sherlock, mainly because she knew she never had him to begin with. But that still didn't make the pain of loving someone who didn't and _couldn't_ love you back any easier to bear.

Madeline lifted her hands to make sure her bun and hair jewel pins were secure. Her eyes felt heavy with their makeup and false eyelashes, it had been a while since she'd worn ballet performance makeup- but she felt at home. As she watched the group dancers in green begin to twist and twirl in formation- she knew she had about 45 seconds before her cue.

Stepping into the rosin box, Madeline tip-toed in it coating her pointe shoes (from _him_ from years prior) with the wax. Looking down she paused mid-twist, staring at the rosin. Closing her eyes, she smiled, her heart swelling with the memory of Sherlock from when she'd lived with him 2 years ago. The cheap Christmas present she'd given him- a $13 box of rosins for his violins to which she'd later embarrassingly explained that ballerina's used them too, which he obviously knew but much to her surprise didn't interrupt or be condescending to her. He'd used the rosins, and nodded along to the information she gave him as she spoke.

He'd been _kind_.

_Wow. It's been almost 3 years. _Madeline smiled sadly, for that was how long she'd known the consulting detective- yet it just seemed like they'd only just met yesterday but had simultaneously known each other their whole lives.

In the past, Madeline had been embarrassed for Sherlock to catch her dancing when John or Mrs. Hudson would insist she would. But tonight, no… even though she couldn't see him, she wanted him to watch, she wanted him to see her. Even though he was not the one for her- she wanted him to look at her.

Taking a deep breath, Madeline wiped the one tear threatening to drip down the corner of her eye and placed a smile on her face- Moran or not-

_It was time. _

* * *

**5 Minutes Ago. **

Sherlock Holmes watched the performance before him with very little interest. The dance meant nothing to him- all he could hear in his mind was _Moran. _

Sherlock would get him at his weakest. No matter where he would make his move at the performance- they were one step ahead. This had to be it. Tonight was the night. There was no other explanation Sherlock could think of. And Sherlock was most certain; not because of any blind arrogance- but because he knew things that Moran didn't know.

John's head lulled suddenly onto Sherlock's shoulder. The consulting detective looked down at the sleeping doctor shocked, it seemed John was having a little bit of a nap and a bit of his drool getting on Sherlock's best Valentino suit. John had stated that he wasn't a fan of the ballet.

"Is your boyfriend ok?" Michael asked in a whisper, sitting on the other side of Sherlock.

"I wonder when Madeline's going to come on." Alex whispered to them, "Sherlock, when is she going to come on?" Sherlock looked at him like he was insane, trying not to move too much for the sake of John's head.

"What an idiotic question. How should I know? " The consulting detective hissed, but not before John let out a little snore.

"Will you guys stop!" Lestrade hissed impatiently from the other side of John, obviously embarrassed as people were looking at them. This was a very formal event, the London Ballet company only put on the most elegant and regal performances and events- and then there was the Baker Street group.

Finally John snored himself awake rather loudly. Sherlock sighed and did his best to not roll his eyes. Jumping in his seat John looked around and rubbed his eyes, "did I miss it?" Feeling guilty that he'd fallen asleep mid performance, "did I miss her?"

"No," Lestrade replied quietly, "But hush up, I'm sure she'll be on soon."

Nodding his head John then looked at Sherlock, and noticed the wet spot on his shoulder, "I'll uhm… I'll pay for the dry cleaning on that."

"Don't worry about it." Sherlock mumbled, clearing his throat.

"Oh my God it's her!" Michael exclaimed. "She's on, she's on!

_"Shush!" _Someone from the audience hissed.

"Oh you shush you queen!" Michael hissed back.

Sherlock could feel the adrenaline began to pump through his veins as he looked around the audience- this was it. Moran was his, by the end of the 2-minute dance- he'd make his move and Sherlock would win.

_Alright Moran… do your worst…_

Michael held on to Sherlock's sleeve and began tugging on it, knocking Sherlock out of his observation of the dark audience, "What?" The consulting detective hissed at him.

Michael simply pointed towards the stage with glossy eyes and a proud smile on his face and said, "can you believe that's her?"

Ready to give Michael a piece of his mind on the idiocy of his sentiment- especially during such an important and dangerous moment, but the moment Sherlock's eyes hit the stage- something happened. Something unexpected. Everything changed in an instant.

In less than a second- his whole life would be altered forever.

It was all so sudden- what had happened.

And it wasn't supposed to. Not to him. Not to Sherlock Homes the consulting detective with the cold heart.

But it did.

He watched Madeline dance with her fitted silver leotard; she jumped and leapt and twirled balancing herself so elegantly- it was like she was a whole different person on that stage. With the outfit, the tight hair, and the makeup that was piled on- this did not seem like _Madeline_. Not the girl who walked into walls, not the girl who ate herself to bloatation… not the girl he was using as bait.

A pang of guilt struck Sherlock right in the chest. What… what was he doing? Suddenly he hoped he was wrong, all ambitions and hopes of having Moran make his move during the performance was gone. His heart began to beat wildly… he watched her every move and didn't want her to have a part in this disaster of her life anymore.

All thoughts of Moran left his head as his eyes grew soft… She got on her tippy toes and smiled as she twirled so effortlessly… so happily. And in that moment- there she was. He could see her beneath the makeup, beneath the show. There was Madeline Smith, the girl with the worst sort of situation at hand yet the one with the biggest smile. The opposite of him, she was easy-going, big-hearted, compassionate… loving. And every bit of it showed in her dance.

From the beginning, this strange creature from Colorado had interested him greatly. His heart had squeezed even with the thought of her since the first meeting. But he had to deny every moment of it- he couldn't allow it- he was Sherlock Holmes, for God's sake.

But even Sherlock Holmes was human.

And as Madeline's arms swung up en haute before she took one last pirouette and ended in a second arabesque, the music coming to a close as she paused in her position- he had never felt more human in his life. And last night…

The previous night he hadn't slept even for a moment. He'd hoped his violin playing had kept John and Madeline up, disabling them from falling asleep together- but when he barged up the stairs at 6 in the morning and found them asleep, her cheek against John's forearm, he found it suitable to then wake Mrs. Hudson, have her fry some bacon, then run back upstairs and nudge a piece into Madeline's mouth in order to wake her up. Much to Sherlock's dislike- Madeline could subconsciously eat in her sleep, so she chewed with her eyes closed and swallowed the bacon, remaining unmoved from her sleeping position. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock resolved himself and shouted **"MADELINE! BACON!" **To which she jumped and sat-up awake with wide eyes, John continued to snore in his deep sleep. She had taken the plate of bacon happily. He'd sat on the bed silently as she ate, patiently waiting for her to finish.

The audience clapped with the greatest enthusiasm it could muster- knocking him out of his memory. He… _supposed _he knew why he cared, but never how much. Not till now.

All his guards were taken down. Sherlock felt emotionally nude and exposed in the midst of the crowd, as if each of them now knew what he knew as well as they clapped for Madeline on stage. A sudden urge to burn the building down filled him.

This was not the sort of night he had been expecting at the ballet. He'd expected a night full of excitement, adventure, and finally getting Moran vulnerable- but none of his hopes had happened and Sherlock was… thankful. Thankful for the lack of excitement, for the lack of the puzzle becoming more interesting, for the lack of adventure all because it meant she was still alright.

This was not the same consulting detective. This was not Sherlock Holmes.

His brain and his heart were two separate entities, and now for the first time- the latter was calling the shots. He always knew he liked her, that was as obvious to him as it was when he met John. But as the curtain closed, Madeline closed off from his sight- he would not- could not, deny it to himself anymore-

He loved her.

Well Sherlock always knew he had those sort of _feelings_ towards John…_love_, that is; Mrs. Hudson yes- but neither were a romantic possibility. The love was not in this manner. Not like this, no- not like this. Never like this for the man who used to be married to his work-

_Used to be? _

The slip up was as clear as day.

_Oh god I love her. _

_I… love? _

_Her? _

The silly American girl who ate 4 times more than he did? Who would rather wear the same outfit 7 days in a row than have to unpack her clothing after months of moving? The girl who doesn't shave her legs for the 5 months of fall and winter because her motto is _'why not let your garden grow if the weather's so cold?' _The girl who had called him _'slut mouthed'_ and a _'snobby little shit'_ ? The girl who chewed with her mouth open, didn't take breaths in between bites, and at one time nearly knocked herself into a concussion from walking into the wall half awake after smelling Mrs. Hudson's muffins from her sleep?

Yep. That's the one.

_Her. _

She was also the one who made Sherlock feel less than perfect, less intelligent about many things of the world he didn't know about or care to appreciate. The one who called him out on everything, the one who wasn't afraid of knocking him into place, the one who was _so _smart and could manage to outwit everybody… the one who was affectionate, _so happy_, and wore her emotions on her sleeve. Realizing immediately from the first meeting he should hate **everything** about her and find her to be the most annoying sentimental creature on the planet, he thought nothing would ever shock him as much as when he realized he didn't find her annoying in the least bit after she yelled at him only moments after they'd bet- but he was wrong. Out of everything in his life, all of his deductions, all of his analyzing, _nothing_ shocked Sherlock Holmes as much as this- to a man who believed he was incapable-

_I love her. _

_…_

_…_

_…_

_Fuck. _

"Sherlock?" John's voice broke him out of his thoughts; the consulting detective looked at John with a look of surprise- as if he was seeing him for the first time. "Are you… ready?" John's eyebrows scrunched together as he looked down at his best friend. Sherlock took in his surroundings and realized everyone was leaving the auditorium and only he and John were left in their row. "Are you alright, mate?" He'd never seen this look on Sherlock's face before it was new, and strange. It was a look of astonishment.

As if a light had been switched inside him, Sherlock inhaled sharply and stood up, his face falling to the same emotionless auto-setting it always did as he put on his jacket and fixed his collar, speaking casually, "Moran didn't make his move."

Ever the actor. He had no intention of letting John know his feelings. He had no intention of anyone knowing such a thing. This unfortunate love was now yet another weakness in this case. Just because he knew didn't mean he would act on them- no. She deserved better than what he had to offer. But there was no worry, the word '_love_' would never come out of the mouth of Sherlock Holmes- especially between the words '_I_' and '_You_.'

That would not happen. He resented the word. Despised it. He would never ever utter it in regards to himself. He was certain- **_never_**_. _

"I actually enjoyed her dance!" John commented with a smile on his face as they walked down the aisle, "I mean, with all the terrorist possibilities, I must say I am very _happy_ nothing happened, though I'm sure you're beyong disappointed- you didn't get the big bang you were hoping for?" John stared at his friend as they walked, and when he didn't reply the doctor stopped them in their tracks and inquired curiously, "and what did you think of the performance?"

"Not what I expected." Sherlock stated before walking past John towards the lobby.

* * *

"I don't get it…" Madeline said in her dressing room. All except Lestrade were gathered, he'd congratulated her and left directly after, ironically just around the time Sherlock had casually mentioned that his wife was actually having an affair with his old uni mate. "I thought Moran was going to try something… can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm disappointed."

"Well, don't you worry," Michael said trying to cheer her up, "he'll… get you next time?" Even his own attempt confused him. "Great performance though! You were so sparkly-!"

Sticking out one of his arms from behind his back in the direction of Alex and Michael, Sherlock interrupted and motioned to the door demanding, "Get out."

The married couple sat there astonished, "What?" Alex inquired.

"Get out. Some details can't be discussed with you- believe it or not."

Michael raised his eyebrows in the direction of Madeline, she nodded her head indicating to listen to Sherlock. Both men obliged but that didn't keep her older brother from mumbling, "Woe, sass attack." before they left closing the door behind them.

"There's something wrong," Sherlock said, trying not to stare at her as she began removing her makeup. While the heavy colouring only accentuated her bone structure- Sherlock found her preferred Madeline bare. He couldn't help but notice the dewy olive tone her skin took against the light… He stood up quickly and began to pace, attempting to refocus his mind at the problem at hand, _You see, THIS is the problem with sentiment. _"He knows something. Something…"

"Like what?" John asked worried as he sat on the counter, "Do you think he knows…" He could feel his heart lurch in his chest at the thought that Moran knew that Sherlock knew the passcode to the safe.

"No, no there's no way of that." Sherlock replied adding with a mumble, "Or at least I don't think."

"What are you guys talking about?" Madeline questioned, annoyed that there were details of the case that even she didn't know about. Not that it surprised her- as of course Sherlock had made sure that was the way it was from the beginning.

"Uhm…" John jumped off the counter and headed towards the door, "Why don't you two talk it over."

Rolling his eyes as John walked out, Sherlock knew he was trying to nudge him in the direction of telling her the extra details- the hit Moran has against Michael and John, the passcode to the safe… but he'd do no such thing. Especially now that he had her alone, all to himself-

_No! Focus! _

He could feel his upset eyes on him, it made his thumbs twiddle against the wood he held behind his back. His palms were sweating. Sherlock felt something strange, something he'd never felt before- nervousness.

"So what is it you guys are talking about that you haven't told me?"

It was strange to see Madeline totally unawares of the war that was being waged inside of him at lightening speed. Bombs were being dropped, tanks were being shot, and there she sat before him in silence as he waited a moment to answer.

"Not your concern."

"Oh…" Madeline raised her eyebrows at the harshness of his response, not happy with it one bit. "I doubt that, but okay then. Since you like to be the smartest one in every room, keep the spare details to yourself- don't worry, it's only **_my life_** on the line you asshole."

Silence fell in the small dressing room, but it wasn't a comfortable one. She had ever right to know, but the little bits of guilt hit her- she knew he was only doing what was best for the case. Madeline continued to watch Sherlock. He stood with his hands twiddling behind his back looking anywhere possible but directly at her. This was strange; he was just letting her insult him. Not that strange, it had happened before but for some reason, this time his lack of speaking was deafening.

_Should I say sorry? …No way, wait a minute it's my life on the line here! …If he doesn't have anything to say, why doesn't he just leave so I can change out of this freaking leotard? …it's really not stopping bunching up. Fuck, I'm going to need a pair of tweasers to get them out by this point._

"I got you this." Sherlock said suddenly. From behind his back he pulled out the rectangle of rosin wax that looked like it had been pulled out of the floor. "I figured since you got me some and I didn't bring you flowers for your performance…"

"Is that…" Madeline began astonished, "Sherlock, did you _unhinge_ that from the stage floor? That's not our property! We can't take that! How did you even do it- it was wedged in! What were you think-" At the sight of Sherlock's face, her words were cut off short. He was looking away from her patiently with a simultaneous look of hurt and nonchalance. Always the contrasting man.

Sherlock was… _trying to be nice_? He'd stolen given her something that she thought she might like. It was _strange_, to say the least. He only did things like that for John. Like when he'd stolen the ashtray from Buckingham Palace for him. Madeline's heart squeezed as she continued to look at him, her chest aching for her to read in more to his sudden change of action towards her- that perhaps this small thing meant more than a silly little gift, but her head- all of her protective instincts and the memory of his words, _I could never love. It's not in my instincts. It's not in me to do such. _

So as she reached out and grabbed the mangled wooden box and placed it in her lap, she felt her heart break as she forced all hope aside as she knew she must, "Thank you." She said softly.

Sherlock cleared his throat and tilted his head to the other side as he looked up at the ceiling as he was reminded by her cool reaction of the one thing that frightened him the most about Madeline Smith, having all depend on her and her forever depending on no one but herself-

_She didn't need anybody. _

"So, uhm, did you like it?" Madeline asked gently. Sherlock finally looked at her, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide as if he hadn't heard the question or was either really surprised by it; "The… ballet. The performance. You know, what we're here for _other_ than the possible terrorist attack. My dancing. You know? Did you like it?"

"Oh! That." Sherlock's face brightened, "yes, it was good. Very good. What you… uhm… did. Up there. The… stuff. That you did. Yeah." Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat he repeated, "Good."

Right as the light smile began to grace her face, Sherlock's chest began to pound. He had to get out of there before he'd find himself shouting something along the lines of _"YOUWEREPRETTYLETSBOTHSLEEPIN MYBEDTONIGHT?NOSEXTHOUGHPROMISE." _

"Oh, uhm-" but Madeline had no time to voice her confused thank you to his stuttering compliment before he really shocked her and patted her hard on the back, twice, nearly knocking her out of her seat before he left the room and slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone and more baffled than ever. "…Thank you?"

_…Did he just **pat **me? _

* * *

"Well, I for one want to go out for drinks and celebrate Madeline's magnificent victory!" John said as they walked up the stairs of 221b. Alex and Michael had gone out for drinks at the local pub and had invited the other three to come along, but Madeline was not in agreement due to the fact of how tired she was post-performance. Sherlock had remained aloof and gave no reply on the subject on the taxi-ride home. "Whether either of you want to or not- I say we do this in the name of sport!" John insisted.

"You can't really win, John." Madeline giggled. "It wasn't a competition."

"I'm afraid no one's going out for drinks tonight." Sherlock mumbled as they reached the top of the stairs. At first John and Madeline looked at Sherlock with muddled expressions, before their attention was brought to someone sitting on the couch. Not just any someone.

"Hello Sherlock," Irene Adler spoke with a casually suggestive tone, "John… Madeline."

"Wait a minute…" John breathed, "You were dead. …right? But you're… alive." But the look of obviousness on Sherlock's face knocked John into a state of immediate sarcastic acceptance as he rolled his eyes and muttered, "of course she is."

"Sherlock was kind enough to repay the favour I paid you both." The woman said. One long limb crossed over the other, her arms outstretched on the top of the couch on either side, her tight white outfit on and blood red lipstick- Madeline had never felt more self conscious as she stood sweaty in her yoga pants and tank top. She would have even taken still being in her performance leotard over the makeupless mess she was right then. "I saved your lives at the pool… Sherlock saved mine in Karachi."

"We both agreed you'd stay away." Sherlock said between grinding his teeth, "remain dead until I told you otherwise-"

"Well I'm afraid it's too late for that, Mister Holmes." Irene stood up, and while they all thought with certainty it was Sherlock she was going to walk up to- it was Madeline she approached. Looking at her from head to toe, Irene analyzed the shorter girl with great judgment, "Look at you." The woman said astonished and unimpressed, "I'll never realize how it is you managed to do what you've done… how it is you have so much power in your grasp."

Madeline could feel the angry heat rise in her cheeks as she bit back, "Well it's not like I asked to be born with Jim Moriarty as my brother and my parents to be ex-British agents. But there you go."

"Oh no, dearie, I wasn't talking about your silly old history and those silly old documents." Irene's eyes landed on Sherlock, "I'm talking about something else entirely that's even harder to come by… something even I couldn't get my hands on, no matter how much I wanted to. Oh my goodness…" Irene stared astonished at Sherlock Holmes, his face which seemed normal to everyone else's in the room- was immediately deduced by Irene who saw through him a little bit quicker, "you've finally admitted to it, _haven't you_? Finally figured it out?" She snorted in laughter, John and Madeline looked at her like she was mad, "Goodness it took you long enough, you're Sherlock-bloody-Holmes aren't you? Can't be too surprised thought, I am well aware how dense you are on the subject-"

Sherlock looked at Irene with threatening eyes that interrupted her mocking lecture, "What do you want and what are you doing here? You know you're being watched, Madeline's being watched by every sort of eye you could imagine. Now everyone from here to Timbuktu knows you're alive… now how are you going to manage that? I hope you don't think I'll go after you again. The debt was repaid."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, Mister Holmes…" She lulled, "I've got new protection. Which is more than I can say for this- _girl_. There are more people after here than there are after me, and believe you me- that's saying something. And the only one keeping her alive is the one who wants her killed the most- well, right after his number one target, which is you Sherlock Holmes." Irene wagged her finger at him, "Shouldn't have killed Jim." She scolded playfully, "You're all in a world of pain now…" Her eyes settled on John, "All three of you- as you already know. And for once it's not the kind of pain that I'm a big fan of inflicting."

"So why don't you do us all a favour and leave?" Madeline snapped.

"Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that, love," Irene said looking over every inch of Madeline, who stood uncomfortably under her gaze, "more ballet less painting, hm? You've gotten more fit since the last time I saw you, " Turning to Sherlock, shocking everyone in the room at her bluntness, "You must be _loving_ that-"

"Alright, you know what John?" Madeline said picking up her purse, she could feel her cheeks flame with colour and her eyes burn on the verge of tears. Sherlock looked away from everyone before landing back on Irene with a look of anger that could kill. "I think I'll take you up on that drink." Her voice shook and waivered as she looked at the floor. John, who's mouth was still agape nodded his head at Madeline. She stomped out of 221B.

Sherlock always had intentions of keeping things away from John, but they always managed to fall through in moments of need; this was one of those moments. Sherlock knew the knowledge to John would be kept a secret, and would make all the difference in his protection of her since now (quite unexpectedly) Sherlock could not be there himself.

On his way out of the living room, John took one glance at Sherlock who looked back at him with a face that spoke volumes. The silent communication shocked John and left him with only one thought as he walked out of 221B- after all that effort to convince himself, and everyone otherwise (and doing so successfully)- Sherlock Holmes was… Wait, did he read that look right? Of course he did, though he'd never say it, the silent message to John was as clear as day. _His best friend was in love._

* * *

Moments later Irene stood smugly as the door to 221B closed loudly. She stared at Sherlock as if he was a prize that she'd just won. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The consulting detective spared no remorse as he looked at her- glared at her with ever fiber of the anger he felt in his being.

"Oh don't be like that," She finally broke the silence, "I needed you alone."

"Oh did you?" He replied with sarcastic mocking interest raising his eyebrows.

"Oh look at you, Sherlock," Irene ran her fingers along the top of the safe that sat at the floor of the living room like a dull reminder that it wasn't opened. Sherlock felt a sudden relief at his decision to not open it himself, and certainty that John would not tell a soul that he could. Speaking of which…

Sherlock quickly took out his phone and typed an important text message and sent it as though his life depended on it. When he finished he saw Irene was now sitting on the safe with one leg crossed over the other watching him with amusement. "I've never seen you teetering on the edge so much before… not even with Moriarty."

"Is that so?" Sherlock replied smoothly.

"Oh yes it is. Sorry about that, by the way- just a little surprised it took you so long to figure it out; and that you still managed to convince everyone, even _yourself_ for the longest time otherwise- but, there you are for you. If it helps, I still don't think she understood what I was talking about- goodness that girl is daft-"

"Is there something I can help you with?" Sherlock demanded absolutely unamused by her analyzing of the occupants of his flat, "and she understood exactly what you were talking about." He took a deep breath, his chest growing with pride, "She's just smart enough to know not to believe a word that comes out of your mouth."

"Yes, except for this time it was the truth." Irene smirked, "even you know that, detective."

"And she is not _daft_," Sherlock said defiantly, lifting his chin, "she's _honest_-"

"She's _weak_, and now that you've figured yourself out- she's going to weaken you, Sherlock." Irene said sadly standing up. Approaching him, Sherlock did not move, he only looked at her as she was only a mere inches from his face, both of her hands reaching up to caress the collar on his purple shirt. "You need to walk away from this case Sherlock… you need to walk away from her." He remained silent. Irene Adler, as always, knew something he didn't. "You know this won't end well now…. Please believe me when I say to walk away- _now_."

* * *

The taxi ride to the pub was silent. John looked over at Madeline but she would not meet his gaze as she continued to look out the window stoically.

"So… do you know what Irene was on about?" John asked quietly, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Madeline replied looking out the window. "I know exactly what she was talking about. But I don't believe a word she says." Finally she looked towards the doctor with a hardened expression on her face that John had never seen before, "She's been trying to tell me the same thing for the past 3 years. She's a liar, that's what she does. She likes to cause trouble. I know it's not true, John. There's only this world and Sherlock Holmes doesn't fall in love in it. I know all about facing harsh cold realities, and this is certainly the least worrisome of the ones I've had to face."

John's unyielding attention to Madeline was broken for a moment as his phone dinged with a new text message, opening it he read,

_DO NOT let her out of your sight. Not even for a moment. Keep me posted. SH_

John looked up at Madeline with astonishment, not just at her comment- but at Sherlock's text he'd received at the same moment.

The unbelievable irony of it all.

Adding softly but defensively Madeline spoke turning back to look out the window, "I'm not the idiot she takes me for."

John said nothing, knowing it was not his place to "out" Sherlock's sudden unbelievable realization of… love. His best friend could always trust him with any and all secrets. Instead, John Watson looked down at his phone and replied.

_I promise. JW _

"Oh, look, we're here," Madeline said with faux excitement as the taxi pulled up to the pub, "Let's start drinking, shall we?"

* * *

**Only one more chapter to go! The next chapter will be the last in this part. I hope you can all feel the tension because shit is going to go down- and I _really _mean it. **

**Please do comment! Truly, I really do love them so much. They help me write, I look at them while I'm typing and editing and they make me want to post the best chapter possible as quickly as possible. And they're so easy to do! Just type in that little box right there and it'll be so lovely :) **

**Also! Just a reminder that if you comment this time I'll be answering you directly in the next chapter as we are at the end **

**Your words are cherished xox**


	12. A Little Bit of Fun

**Thank you for all of you who commented on the last chapter: wow, ****aorangeinboston, ThereAre666Ways2Love**** , ****Eli Dranoel, LiteratureCat****, ****Midnight Valentina, Majestic-Space-Duck**** , ****Empress of Verace****, HC, GrilledCheezus, ****sailormajinmoon, and Amehhh. **

* * *

**The Final Performance- Part 2.**

* * *

**Set Up.**

"I… I just don't know anymore, you guys." Madeline said downing her mojito with one last gulp, "it's like… Bridget Jones, but inversed, y'know?" John, Alex, and Michael stared at her blankly, "Like you know in the movie, Bridget was the British girl who was always too clumsy and ate way to much then you know, creepy Hugh Grant leaves her for some skinny American who's so self confident and sexy… except I'm the clumsy fat-ass American and _Irene_ is the skinny British sexy dominatrix- you know, it's really not fair! Come on Alex, Michael, you know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah, we're not _that_ gay." Alex commented.

"Speak for yourself, I've seen that movie hundreds of times." Michael replied before excitedly telling John on a side-note, "Colin Firth is my film-husband."

"That's lovely." John said. Turning his attention back to the troubled woman, "Madeline, you can't get down on yourself. Tonight was a great night! You weren't attacked and you performance was a hit!"

But there were other things on the tip of John Watson's tongue that wanted to be said. Every single synapses in his mind wanted to shout out of his mouth-

_He's in love with YOU, you oblivious idiot! It's been 3 years and he's only** just** realized it and is an even bigger idiot than you are because he'll never actually say it! Which is pointless because unless you figure it out or he actually says it at some point- which neither of you will, we're going to keep going in this bloody circle in which you both love each other but neither believes the other! _

_YOU. BOTH. MAKE. MY. LIFE. SO. **DIFFICULT. **_

**_Stubborn assholes- the both of you! _**

But instead he replied with much more kindness with what he wanted to, "He's not _choosing_ Irene for anything. You said it yourself- there's nothing to choose!" John Watson remained loyal and kept his friends secret… most painfully.

"No, I know." Madeline sighed exhausted, "I just…" Looking up she saw a strange underlying battle in John's face. She changed her mind out of her confession. "I need another drink. Boys?" Madeline shouted behind her.

Lestrade's two dunce police officers were standing at the counter at the bar a couple of feet behind them, they perked up at her comment, "you guys want some drinks?"

"No," John said shaking his head, "Madeline, no more."

"Come on, I've only had one." She countered, "You're getting one too. And so are my two brothers over here. At least I have three good men in my life. All Sherlock cared about tonight was the fact that I _wasn't_ put in Moran's way. Acting all strange in the dressing room like he was trying to hide his disappointment with weirdness at the fact that my life wasn't in danger again."

"Come on, you know that's not true." John replied softly, though slightly disappointed in the fact that he'd decided to leave her dressing room before being able to witness Sherlock Holmes acting all flustered over a girl he just realized he'd loved for the past 3 years.

Michael and Alex looked at each other knowingly, "I thought you _didn't _love him, sweetie."

"I don't!" Madeline added quickly, "Not anymore. When I first met him, and maybe a couple times since then I thought I did, but I grew up and realized that he's an illusion." Adding sadly, "He doesn't care about me, in the end it was always the case. I'm just another case. And I was just the client-girl who was dumb enough to fall for all of his '_experiments_' that he decided to try along the way."

John's ears perked up, "wait, what?" Sherlock had never mentioned any experiments regarding Madeline, what was she talking about? "What '_experiments_'?"

Shaking her head Madeline realized as the three men looked at her strangely that she'd almost given away the three times she and Sherlock had become almost intimate. It was safer to change the subject, "Where are those idiots with those drinks?"

"Wait, Madeline- what experiments?" John insisted.

"Ooh," Alex said excitedly with anticipation in his voice, "Were they _sexual_ experiments?"

John's face scrunched up at the thought. Michael elbowed his husband utterly offended at his inquiry, "Hey, that's my baby sister you're talking about here!" Before turning back to face Madeline, the offense dropping at a moments notice as he spoke with serious interest on the topic of Sherlock Holmes' '_sexual experiments_', "But seriously though, were they? Because I want details."

"Alright!" Madeline exclaimed, wanting to end the disturbing conversation. "That's enough! And no, the experiments weren't 'sexual'" she lied, "They were nothing of the sort. But they're also none of your business."

"Alright," Lestrade's men returned with drinks for everyone, "Don't get too wild now, we're not paying for these."

"Sorry, I only like light beer." John attempted to communicate, but the guards simply ignored him and walked away. The doctor hoped that at least he would be able to have one good drink before having to keep his mouth shut all night.

Finally after moments of silence, Alex looked at John and inquired, "But you and Sherlock _have_ slept together… Right?"

Ignoring the question hopelessly, John no longer found a reason to complain regarding the silly drink and took a well-needed swig of his pint.

* * *

**Lead In.**

Sherlock and Irene sat across from one another; he in his chair and she comfortably taking refuge in John's. With one leg crossed over the other and his fingers pressed against his lips, the consulting detective's attention remained on the woman while her attention remained elsewhere.

Pointing her long red-nailed finger to above the fireplace, "Did your girlfriend paint that? That's actually not half bad. I was hoping to see her perform tonight but I'm afraid I couldn't make it on a count of breaking into here and making myself at home."

"Yes, and you did so quite uninvitedly." Sherlock replied.

"What?" Irene smiled slyly, "not going to correct the 'girlfriend' bit?"

Taking a deep breath Sherlock replied casually, "people talk. You say she's my girlfriend, others say John is my boyfriend, if you haven't figured it out after I allowed my name to be drug through the dirt after the fall- I have very little regard to what others think of me-"

"Oh that I only sort of believe, but you care about what people think of her. I can tell." Sherlock lightly scrunched his chin and pouted his lips angrily- but only for a moment. He wouldn't let the woman get to him again. "Oh just say you love her."

"What is it you said you want?"

"I didn't."

"I know. That's my subtle way of telling you to talk or leave."

"Why?" She challenged, loving where this conversation was headed.

Sherlock looked at her like she'd gone mad and spat, "What do you mean, why?"

"Is it so you can go to the pub and protect her yourself? She's nearly died in your care twice- once at the symphony while you were out rescuing me and the second time not too long ago- arsenic in her food, was it? What, you want to save her this time? …Want to be her hero?"

His eyes shot daggers as he tilted his head, "They don't exist. And I'm not one of them."

"Oh yes you are." Irene replied with a tone specifically constructed to annoy the man before her, "you're not a 'hero' exactly- but you are to the ones you love." Sherlock looked away at her use of the word. "John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… am I forgetting anyone?"

Sherlock found her teasing entirely unamusing, "Myself." His comment indulged her to break out into a rare laughter. Sherlock replied to her sudden humour with his best closed-mouth sarcastic smile.

Her mood calmed suddenly, as did the streets outside. It was getting late. Sherlock was becoming impatient, his fingers twiddling at the anticipation of her leaving and him finally getting to John and Madeline. But the curiousness in him needed to know what she wanted first.

"You know." Irene spoke with sad nostalgia that interested him, "I watched you nearly lose once… and this time that I know it's really happening, right in front of me-" Her eyes glossed over before she looked away from his curious eyes, "I'm not so sure I want to watch anymore."

* * *

**Take off.**

John no longer found a reason to complain regarding the silly drink and took a well-needed swig of his pint. He sighed hopelessly at the question.

Michael said to the doctor lifting his glass, "Let's all _cheers_ first before we drink? That means you too, Bridget."

Madeline looked back at her brother pointedly as all four of their glasses clinked before they each drank. "Fine, but I get the guy too- I steel your film husband."

"Well, the good news is you had a _great _performance," Alex added, "Don't you think so John-"

But his words were cut short. All eyes fell onto the poor doctor. His skin had turned a deathly pale and his hands began to shake. "John?" Madeline asked worriedly, placing her hand atop his arm, "Are you ok?"

"Come with me." John's voice shook as he could barely get his words out in a whisper; looking up at her worriedly from beneath his lashes.

"…What?"

"To the loo, come with me." He insisted, his voice growing faint. Madeline looked at him like he was mad.

"He doesn't look too good," Alex said worriedly, "Do what he says."

But Madeline didn't have a chance to respond as John took her painfully tight by the wrist and dragged her away from the table. "John, John!" Madeline shouted atop the loud music as she found herself being pulled into the men's loo (which was thankfully empty). "What are you doing?"

But he couldn't answer her as he keeled over an open stall and vomited in the toilet. John began coughing as the first bout of spew left him. Dread filled Madeline. What was happening to him? "John? John, tell me you're ok."

Kneeling down behind him, Madeline began to rub his shoulders soothingly. John's cough calmed down as he told her, "I promised I'd keep an eye on you-" He coughed twice more. Madeline winced at the sound, his cough was deep and rough. "I'll be fine. Just stay here."

"No, John I don't think so." Madeline's voice shook; she watched John lean over the toilet and vomit again. She didn't leave his side as he coughed. "I'm going to go get help!" John began to shake his head 'no' but it was not carried through as this time- instead of coming back up for a breath, the air left John's lungs as he slowly leaned on the side of the toilet. His eyes closing, face pale, and his body going still.

Madeline heart began to pound loudly as she felt her eyes water; shaking him Madeline spoke panicked, "John! John wake up, please. John wake up!"

When a light moan left his throat, his eyebrows coming together, Madeline sighed in relief. "Oh thank god." He was alive. But his skin was burning as cold as ice. A layer of sweat masked his face, his breath coming out in short gasps.

Busting out of the men's toilets Madeline was surprised to come face to fact with Lestrade's men who seemingly had been waiting outside. "What's going on?"

"Get Lestrade, something's happened to John."

One took out his phone and began to text quickly. Madeline tried to walk around them before she was stopped by the other, "Where do you think you're going? You stay in our sight till he gets here."

"No, I can't, I have to get my phone I have to tell Sherlock." Madeline said between hurried breaths, but the mans arm around her waist wasn't budging as he wrapped his arm around her tighter. "Please I have to tell Sherlock!" She gasped desperately, tears coming to her eyes at the thought of her friend laying in paint. "His best friend is in there!"

"Sorry, sweetheart, we can't do that, we're under very specific instructions."

"Lestrade would want Sherlock to know." Madeline growled in rebuttal quickly turning to the guard, getting ahold of herself and her emotions as best she could. "He's his best friend- I won't leave him alone."

"That's true." Both men looked at one another before returning to look back at her, only confusion flooding her face. "You've got a point there. But we're under specific instructions to keep an eye on you."

Much too quickly for her to ever realize how, it seemed her world went black.

* * *

**Simplicity.**

"I'm not so sure I want to watch anymore." There was a transparency in Irene Adler's eyes that Sherlock had never seen before. Deductions raged inside him as he tried to see what was ahead, but as usual- the woman was un-deductible.

"Answer my question or leave- What do you want?"

"I never said I _wanted_ anything." Irene shook her head sadly, "I don't need anything anymore. …I've already gotten what I came here for, what I came here to do." She sighed with guilted relief, "My task is done."

"And what task was that?" Sherlock wanted to deny it but he couldn't, he could feel a pounding in his chest that let on quite quickly. At first it was soft, but as their conversation grew- so did the incessant pounding. This sick feeling in the pit of his stomach like he was missing something- something so obvious, something so simple… and he couldn't see it.

"Do you remember what you told me?" She inquired softly, Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question, his face remaining the same ever so coolly, "You told me to never let my heart rule over my head… funny how sometimes we forget to take our own advice." Sherlock's face darkened greatly as she continued quite willingly, "In the end it was never going to be an elaborate plan to get to you. You upset the wrong person, Sherlock Holmes. You took who he loved, do you think there wouldn't be a retaliation on that end towards you? And you're exactly where he wants you- _vulnerable_. So many area's of your heart to hit now. It had to be a simple solution to trick you. Sherlock Holmes the great consulting detective, always wanting big puzzles; Sherlock Holmes the hero- always protecting those he loves most. …He was right, this was the simplest trap, and you walked right into it. But we can't help it sometimes, can we? In the end, we're all human. … Even you."

* * *

**No Choice.**

_"Oh thank god."_

No more than 2 minutes passed before John Watson could collect himself off the toilet. He could feel the toxins left in his body were passing through quickly. Wiping his mouth with the tissue paper, he swayed as he attempted to stand. He remembered hearing the door close and knew Madeline had left to go get help. He knew this was not good- he had to get to her. Pushing the door open his eyes were blurred as he attempted to focus on his surroundings. But even so he could tell Madeline was nowhere in sight.

John's insides began to twist in worry; the nausea hadn't left him but his attention began to sober up as reality was hitting him. Walking into the bar he saw the bartender crouched over Alex and Michael, who looked to be asleep on the table.

"What… what's going on?"

"Your friends," The bartender replied frightened with wide eyes, looking as though he knew he was in the biggest trouble one could be in. "I swear sir, I have no idea what happened- I didn't do it but I think they've been roofied. I swear I didn't do it."

"Oh my god," John breathed, his heart dropping in one go. Something big was happening, clutching his side he replied without a hope in the world, "my female friend, the short brunette one that went with me to the loo, where did she go?"

"Those two officers that were with her said they were taking her to the hospital. She passed out too." The young man was on the verge of tears, "I swear I didn't do anything, You have to believe me!"

"I believe you, just calm down. Call the ambulance, get these two to the nearest hospital. Don't let _anyone_ near them unless it's a man named Lestrade, do you understand? I have to go."

Ignoring the intense pain in his stomach, John made his way out the pub and ran straight in to a taxi, "Saint Bart's Hospital, quick as you can!" He was certain he already knew what had happened. Madeline was in the midst of being taken- and he had to stop it before she got to the second location. But he wasn't going to give up. The strong soldier never gave up.

"Molly!" John gasped as the pathologist answered on the second ring, "please tell me you're at Barts!"

"No, I'm not actually even in London, at a restaurant waiting for Jack to arrive, late as usual," Molly said, after a moment sensing in his tone that something was wrong her calm demeanor quickly changed, "Why, is everything alright?"

"No" John shouted, "No it's not- Molly- who do you know that is at Bart's now?"

"No one! I mean, my friend Mary was supposed to work the shift tonight but she was taken off the schedule for some reason- John, no one's there. The place is empty."

"Christ!" John breathed, "I've got to go." Hanging up on the pathologist, John's hands began to shake violently, knowing he'd have no hope of getting to type in Sherlock's number by this point- he had to go with a text. And a very unclear one at that.

This was what Sherlock was talking about. The one thing that could go wrong that could unravel their entire side of the plan. And it was happening right then, right under their noses.

* * *

**An Illusion.**

It seemed her world went black.

And just as quickly, it came to light again.

Madeline winced at the bright light against her eyes. Moaning she placed the back of her hand against her lids. She could feel a cold metal against the back of her body, finding that she was laying on what felt like a metal slab.

"Finally." A deep familiar voice said, "took her bloody long enough."

"Would you shut up and get the bag? We have to hurry. We've only got 3 minutes before the camera's come back on."

Her eyes slowly came into focus as she noticed she was in a familiar place. The cold air against her skin made her shiver, but it was also the fact that she realized where exactly she was- the morgue at St. Bart's. Madeline was lying on a slab that had been the temporary home for many dead bodies. She recognized it as the familiar mortuary in the basement of Barts.

"What are you doing?" She moaned. Her head felt like it had taken a good pounding.

Both men looked at her. Lestrade's guards had taken off their glasses and earpieces, they looked entirely different and far more frightening now that she could see their faces. Madeline feared she already knew the answer to her question.

"Following you these past 2 weeks has been the most horrid part of my whole job," One of them said.

The other held up a black body bag and commented, "Good thing we're changing careers."

"And what are you going to do with that?" Madeline whispered, her voice shaking as she already knew the answer.

"You're going to get in it…" They smiled, "And we're going to enjoy this."

* * *

**Second-Hand Revenge.**

"In the end we're all human… even you."

Sherlock looked at the woman with shock and astonishment. His mind going as fast as it ever had gone before- at such a rapid pace he couldn't catch any of his thoughts or any of his connections that were being made one by one, each right after the other in quick succession.

"I told you I needed you alone," Irene added, "…I didn't tell you it's because I needed her gone and away from you."

"…What have you done?" Sherlock's breath hitched in an instant, his chest constricting painfully tight. He felt his whole body frozen as he knew his world was swiftly crumbling around him.

"I'm so sorry." Irene whispered shaking her head, tears coming to her eyes. Sherlock could hear the fear in her voice, he could see the unspoken terror in her eyes. "He knows you know who he is. I'm so sorry. I had no choice. He would have killed me if I hadn't come here to do this, and it was all so last minute…" Sherlock's eyes widened, this was everything he feared. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, signaling the end. Pain flooded Irene's face as tears dripped down her cheeks as she watched the poor consulting detective realize that all he ever loved was now lost. "…I told you to walk away when you had the chance to make a choice."

"A choice?" Sherlock spat. "Between Madeline and John?"

Nodding, Irene replied, "Not that it matters anymore. You had one, once. If you'd listened and walked away you could have had him but now… there's no choice for you left to choose."

Like a shot, Sherlock Holmes burst out of his chair, down the stairs and out of 221b as if it were on fire, his heart racing, and his stomach sick; but even in his rush out, upon grabbing a taxi he could still hear Irene Adler's last whispering plea laced with utter fear and condemnation,

_"…You have **no** idea how powerful and demented he really is."_

* * *

**An Attempt.**

It was happening right under their noses.

John had sent a text that was messy as could be- but was certain Sherlock would be able to figure it out in a less than a millisecond: _BJ8ASJRTS_

The taxi was slowly pulling up to the familiar hospital. It had been 20 minutes since the pub and in the pit of John's stomach- he already knew it was too late.

By this point she'd be gone. The sliver of hope that was once there was gone, and John knew it was his duty as a friend to find that sliver again for Sherlock.

* * *

**Revealed.**

Madeline could feel the mugginess of the tunnels through the nearly asphyxiating black bag. She wanted to scream at the top of her lung, but the barrel of a gun she felt pressed to her head on the other side of the bag was enough for her to hold her tongue.

Her heart was an unusually slow pace, her nerves were calmed. This was unusual, not just for anyone who was in the midst of being kidnapped, but especially for Madeline Smith who was a constant spectacle of intense emotion. She'd deduced quite quickly that they'd given her a sedative- a very strong one at that. Her whole body, nerves and emotions included were so contrary to what was going through her head. In her mind all she could scream was John and Sherlock's name. John for her worry of him- hoping that he'd gotten out of the pub fine, and Sherlock to find her. It was a strange thought Madeline had never had before- to actually _need_ someone else. Not that she had much a choice, really. Madeline knew she was helpless right then, she had no choice.

Her only option was bravery. If this was the way she would have to stare death in the face- Madeline Smith would never go out of this world on her knees.

_Be brave, be brave… _She repeated to herself. _Do what he's taught you. Remember all he's taught you. _

Closing her eyes, Madeline forced the uncomfortable claustrophobia to the back of her mind, she shut out the talking of the two once-police officers, and focused all of her effort on doing what Sherlock Holmes had attempted to teach her and John to do as best they could in their time of need- deduce.

The sound of shoes moving from a solid sound to an echo meant that they were moving away from the small tunnels. The tilt of her bag and the light bounces meant they were going up the stairs. The air, however, was still stuffy to a certain extent.

_A car garage. _

Opening her eyes, Madeline looked around the bag for an opening- for anything. She knew any moment now she was going to be stuffed in the back of an wrongly marked ambulance and taken to a second location- and if anything she learned from Sherlock Holmes was to do whatever one could to leave something behind before going to a second location to indicate any sort of clue.

_Bingo. _

The little hole at the top of the bag where the locked zippers barely didn't come together. It was a little sliver of light, but she was certain she could get something out.

_My hair! _

The thought ran through her head for only a moment- but it would not do. Not for the long term, but the brilliant consulting detective would surely find them. Madeline pulled a group of strands painfully out of her scalp, and slipped them out of the hole, one by one creating a small trail.

Suddenly she felt the bag come to a halt; "Oof!" Madeline exclaimed as she was dropped on the hard concrete floor. She could hear the trunk door open.

_Come on, think! Think! _

This was it, her last chance to leave something for Sherlock. Her last chance for any sort of hope. This was the last location she'd ever have the opportunity to leave anything behind to be remembered by- whether he found her or whether she died, she had to try.

_…I've got it! _

Suddenly Madeline felt the men grunt as they tried to lift her up, "God she's heavy." One of them mumbled. "Eats like a grown man, she does. Shouldn't be surprised." The other said.

Working quickly with shaking hands, Madeline reached up to her neck and placed her hand upon her heart pendant necklace readying herself to rip it off-

_Wait…._ A sudden realization of a possibility regarding her necklace hit Madeline quickly.

_He would have… wouldn't he?_

She wasn't certain- but it was likely and worth the risk. A risk she would be willing to take when gambling on this particular thought regarding Sherlock Holmes.

Sighing Madeline changed her mind and tucked the necklace under her t-shirt securely; she winced as she felt her body thrown onto the metal floor of the ambulance, but not before a needle stabbed through the bag poking her in the thigh injecting yet another substance, one of which knocked her out almost immediately.

When Madeline would awake god knows how long later, she knew she would be face to face with the conductor of this whole symphony- Sebastian Moran.

* * *

**The Chemical Defect.**

Sherlock jumped out of his cab and ran to Bart's just as John reached the front doors as well. Both were breathing heavily as they caught sight of each other. Sherlock stopped in his tracks, immensely relieved at the sight of his friend still breathing- but still sick to his stomach at the thought of Madeline. John went straight for the front doors- neither of which were unlocked. St. Bart's was closed- just as Molly had told him. The building seemingly empty on the inside, but that didn't stop John from pulling and tugging at the locked doors like a madman.

"John…" Sherlock gasped, attempting to catch his breath, "John! Don't even bother, it's too late. She's not here. They've taken her somewhere else. The building's closed down. Oh, Christ-" Sherlock ran his hands across his face in defeat as he spoke in utter pain, "_he's got her_."

"Jesus Christ!" John shouted, losing his temper and kicking the door. Turning away from the building he slammed his eyes shut momentarily as old memories flooded him. "Why here of all places, why here…"

St. Bart's was becoming a hell on earth of terrible moments for John Watson.

"You know why he chose for us to come to Bart's…" Sherlock mused upset with a bitter nod, "we both know why… it's why _he _came here, it's why…" for once not even bothering to finish his sentence. He could feel the tension begin to rise in his body as his imagination ran away with him. All of the things he could have done to get ahead of this- all the mistakes he made alone the way, Sherlock breathed in his pain like a sickness as it filled his every vein.

_Maddie._

Both men stood in silence as they caught their breath. The night was strangely still as they knew at that very moment Madeline was getting farther and farther away and there was nothing they could do about it. Nothing to lead them to her. No clues. No crime scene. Nothing.

John felt the nausea pass through his system. He'd gotten almost all of the poison out of his body from vomiting at the pub, and the intense adrenaline rush helped it along. Now all he could feel was numbness. Subtly, his eyes moved to stare at his friend who John, for once, had no idea what he was going through.

Sherlock was… still. It was beyond strange watching Sherlock Holmes unmoving in such a state in the midst of such a situation. John couldn't imagine if the man even understood all that he must have been feeling after all- the woman he just realized he loved had been taken away from him only hours later by quite possibly the most dangerous and deranged man in the world who was hell bent on getting revenge on Sherlock in any way possible.

"Sherlock…" John breathed, knowing what they had to do next. "Let's go now- there must be some way to get to her. Let's go, _now_."

John's words did not comfort him. Nor did he make any move to leave which shocked John above all else, but it was then that he realized that this wascertainly perhaps the closest to the most perfect nightmare the consulting detective ever had. First falling in love- then having that taken away. Not much else could make this night any worse for the man whose heart had just been stripped from him.

Suddenly, shouting at the top of his lungs as though it were his last breath- Sherlock Holmes lodged his mobile into the concrete sidewalk where he'd plummeted to almost 2 years prior. The phone shattered into hundreds of pieces as his voice echoed throughout the empty street, and his growls did not grow softer as he clutched his hands to his hair and closed his eyes, tugging at his scalp like a madman.

John didn't know what to do to comfort him. The detective was undone. This was the second time the doctor felt such sadness and so helpless towards his best friend- the other time having ironically in the same place at St. Bart's… now John understood why Moran chose to take her here first before taking her elsewhere entirely. To lead them there to Bart's. To let Sherlock feel the pain of losing his loved one- just as Moran lost his up on that roof.

"Love is a dangerous disadvantage…" A cool voice spoke. Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John as he clutched his jaw with bitterness, ignoring the man who came to stand behind him. "A chemical defect found on the losing side." Mycroft continued taking a step away from his car neither men had noticed had pulled up. "Never let your heart rule over your head." He concluded with a point of his umbrella. "Those were _your_ words, weren't they Sherlock? …I told you you'd be the death of her."

John had never wanted to punch Mycroft in the face ever more in his life. There he was twisting the knife in Sherlock's chest as if the man wasn't feeling enough pain as it is. But the doctor kept his fists clutched to his sides attempting to maintain his temper- not wanting to add even more fuel to the fire.

This did not go unnoticed by Sherlock who's mind was running out of control, but Mycroft's interruption and biting words served as reminders; Sherlock found a thread through his thoughts and finally connected the next step- something he knew was on the table in front of them- he'd have to force his emotions aside and he had to act quickly on it or else this would all get much worse.

_Make him understand!_

Locking his eyes onto his best friends, he spoke in a demanding tone as he collected himself in an instant. "There's still time, John. You have to listen" Sherlock said with as much calm certainty as he could muster in order to convince his currently temperamental and emotional friend, "She's gone too far away John. There's no way in hell I'm going to let her go, but you have to listen to me- I'm not going to chance you. We have to leave here." Sherlock grabbed onto John's arm, "**Get in Mycroft's car**." he demanded

"What do you mean,_ what is wrong with you_?" John spat yanking his arm out of the detectives grasp; "Do you know who she's with right now!? And you're talking all of this nonsense!" His efforts to calm his temper against Mycroft were still finding their outlets through his tone, "Stop messing around, we've got to go try and find her!"

"Sherlock's right, John; now's not the time. Nothing we do now can get us closer to her, we have to think in the correct perspective. Use your thoughts- Calm your emotions." Mycroft demanded suddenly to the doctor before turning his attention to his younger brother. "Sherlock, we don't have much time."

John's face scrunched in even further confusion, not even close to comprehending why Sherlock was taking them away from the last place she was taken. Why wasn't he going after the woman he loved? "What are you two talking about?!"

"John! Listen to me." Sherlock tried to reason hurriedly, "Do you really think I wouldn't take **any** advantage to get to her! This is what he wants- don't you see!?" He shouted, his voice echoing through the streets, "He wants us to panic, he wants emotion to get to you! There's no advantage regarding Madeline right now, you MUST see this. " Sherlock shouted urgently, "We will go at it together and find her- I will **NOT **let her go- but you have to listen to me- GO with Mycroft. NOW."

"No!" John argued, he couldn't bare to see his friend like this. Behind Sherlock's words, as he looked in his eyes- John saw the pain there. The longing for her. And the doctor's loyalty to his friend would do anything to end his suffering, "they already tried to get to me at the pub- but I got almost all of it out of my system." He tried to reason, John Watson tried to turn his emotions off but could not do so as the Holmes brother's could. He was not built to do such a thing. All he could see were two men refusing to go inside of the crime scene he didn't want to waste any time on. Sherlock, you finally fell in love with someone- I won't lose her for you! I won't lose her for _us_-" but John's voice was stopped short by the sudden look on Sherlock's face. It was a look of fear. One John had rarely ever seen on his best friend's face and it overtook his face in the most dramatic manner. "…Sherlock?" John's anger calmed into pure confusion as he stared at his friend, what the doctor didn't see was the familiar red light now shining on his chest.

He did not see what they saw- a trap.

"_John_…" Sherlock's voice shook frozen in place, all hope leaving his eyes. Irene Adler's words rung through his head and rung as a heartbreaking reminder, _'you won't have a choice to choose.'_

_I'll make my own._ Sherlock quickly leaned on one leg and jumped forwards in an attempt to wrap himself around his best friend as quick as possible- but the action was futile. It was too late.

The bullet was quicker.

By the time his arms had wrapped around his friend as they stood torso to torso- Sherlock could feel the blood seep onto the front of his shirt from John's chest. The echo had been rung, the damage had been done- the gun had been shot.

"John!" Sherlock gasped. His friend fell back loosely into his arms. Quickly Sherlock laid him on the ground as John looked up at his friend with astonishment etched on his face. "John!"

"Sherlock?" John said, confused. The upper left side of his chest was burningly numb. His arms felt heavy and he could feel a pool of liquid beneath his back. It only took a moment for the ex-army man to realize what had happened, his lids felt heavy as he said softly, "Sherlock, it's too close this time-"

"John, don't say anything." Sherlock said urgently, his face fright with worry as he attempted to get ahold of himself. Mycroft came up beside him, but Sherlock paid him no mind as he ripped off his best friends coat like a madman to get to the wound. "Don't say anything."

"Sher…" John croaked, knowing exactly what was happening as his world began to grow dim, "go."

"No. It's too late. I get no choice, for either of you… I'm too late- I'm too late, John." Sherlock gasped knowing both situations were now hopeless. His throat began to close up, his mouth growing dry as he watched his best friend beneath his hands, the blood now pooling onto his pants.

For perhaps the fourth time in his life, tears filled Sherlock's eyes as they dripped down his cheeks one by one.

Sherlock placed his hands atop his best friend's wound in an attempt to slow down the bleeding. He could simultaneously feel John's life literally bleeding between his hands and Madeline's life slipping farther and farther out of his reach.

Sherlock's life had fallen apart. His world was over.

"Sherlock…" John whispered. The light against the back of his friend's head softened his features greatly, John was happy that at least Sherlock's was the last face he'd get to see. "We had some adventures, didn't we?"

"And we have a lot more. Don't give up, John. They're on their way. Please," Biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes briefly, Sherlock took a sharp intake of breath as he stared at his contented friend through his blurred vision and spoke in a whisper. _"…don't leave me alone, John." _

"…But you're not alone anymore. " John replied with a soft happiness.

But Sherlock would not take John's comments as answers. The soldier may have been giving up- but the consulting detective wouldn't. Pulling his emotions together, Sherlock swallowed his remaining tears and spoke firmly, "That doesn't mean I don't need you too."

Raising himself up onto his knees, Sherlock heard the ambulances begin to draw near as he pressed his full weight into the doctor's wound with his hands making John wince and moan in pain; it was digging the bullet in deeper but it was pressuring against the bleeding and that's what mattered. The thick red juice coated his fingers like paint; he could feel John's faint heart beating against his palm. Sherlock Holmes would never give up on his blogger so easily.

John and Sherlock stared into each others eyes as the lights began to surround them, getting closer and closer- but not there quick enough. The further John felt his breath leave him, the harder Sherlock pressed.

"Sherlock…" John struggled to say, "it's ok." He assured him.

"John _shut up_-" Sherlock spat, disbelieving at what was happening.

"Let go-" his words were cut off as he coughed violently, blood dripping out the side of his lip and spoke with pleasant astonishment, "Who'd have thunk you would find love first…" Sherlock's eyebrows came together as he felt the last breath leave John; John smiled up at Sherlock, "I'm happy."

"_John_…" Sherlock whispered as his best friends head lulled off to the side.

The medics shoved Sherlock out of the way onto the ground. Mycroft, in a rare move, put down his umbrella, came behind his younger brother and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's chest, lifting him up onto his feet and pulling him away from the body as he stared with wide disbelieving eyes. "_Walk away, Sherlock…_"

_"John-"_

_Walk away…_

* * *

**A Blunt Man. **

With a heavy gasp Madeline jolted awake. Her eyes went wide as she felt rope digging into the flesh of her wrists and ankles. Blinking many times to clear her vision, Madeline's breathing grew heavy as the fear began to take her over. The sedatives had unfortunately worn off and she could feel her emotions overtake her every nerve.

The room was dark- but not too dark for her to not make out that she was in some sort of warehouse. Tools and different metals lined the walls as if this were some sort of strange medical construction facility. But the amateur level and lack of organization, matched with the fact that as far as she could see, concluded for her to realize that she was on the only table on the whole room. This was a remote place and it was individually made. Unfortunately she was strapped to it with no room to move so it didn't matter where they were- she wasn't going anywhere.

"Clever, isn't it?" A deep Irish voice resonated throughout the room. Madeline swallowed dryly. She looked up at the dark ceiling that was stories high attempting to calm her nerves.

_Be brave…. Be brave… _

"What, no response? Finally ran out of things to say? You were much more talkative when we were together."

Hearing a shuffle from the corner of the room where the shadows lied, Madeline turned her attention to said corner and much to her surprise- she found she was speechless and as the disturbing image of Moran came near her. Not that he was disturbing looking to say the least- no, it wasn't that. It was that Madeline already knew this man. She'd known him before- or thought she did at least.

"It's… you?" She whispered, finally eliciting a smile from the man.

It was the last person she'd expected. The least likely person- the man she'd actually forgotten about overtime-

It was Doctor Jack.

"Yes, it's me." He smiled and shrugged proudly, "What can I say; one of the things I picked up from your big brother was the ability to hide in plain sight." He took steps towards the table, pulling up a stool to sit directly next to her. "Look at you, baby Moriarty. I know Jim was hoping to get you on his side but you're more the boring type, I know."

"You don't know me." Madeline spat from between her teeth.

Moran smiled down at her, his bright blue eyes sparkling from the overhead light. "Oh, but I do. Maddie, sweetie, darling, baby- you hurt me. Did our time together mean _nothing _to you?"

Madeline winced. She'd almost forgotten.

"Oh yes," He taunted, "It was only three years ago, but you remember. Thank you for setting me up with Molly, by the way- she's a doll. Too bad I had to blow her off tonight- pressing matters, you see. Although I'm quite surprised Jim didn't blow her head off half way through _their_ month long relationship. She watches far too many musicals. Good thing she unknowingly dated two gay men who could stand it."

"Two serial killers on top of it all." Madeline replied sarcastically. "make sure to add _that_ in your online profile on eharmony-"

"Oh, don't be like that!" Moran said playfully, laughing at her quick wit, "Don't demean my time running in your circles. I've enjoyed playing _Doctor Jack_, you know. Doctor Jack the handsome one, Doctor Jack the one with all the sisters, Doctor Jack 'the catch' as they called me at Bart's."

"I knew I broke up with you for a reason." She smiled sarcastically at him.

"Yes, but we did have one _hell_ of a makeout session in the back of that taxi." He teased, winking at her. Madeline felt sick to her stomach. The drugs were leaving her system and she could feel the side-effect come on. "Surprised you're actually here though, you see I've been planning this for quite some time. I did the test run with the poison in your food about a month ago, you remember? Sherlock pumped your stomach for you. Lucky girl, you are. Just testing the waters for when I'd eventually use it on John, as I just did. But you know that just didn't do the trick!" He laughed bemused, "That little doctor _just won't die_, I tell you. So I had to go old-fashioned, you know- my way, assassination truly is the best way. Good thing I had that hit out on him, I was able to call it in much quicker." Madeline's heart dropped to her intestines, her skin growing sickly pale as Moran continued to mumble, "although I do prefer to do that myself unfortunately I had no time, you know with me setting up here for you- have to be a good host, don't I?"

"You…" Her voice shook as she spoke, "You killed Jo-"

"Yes, it's unfortunate, isn't it?" Moran said casually, "He and I went to school for a bit together you know. Way back when. He never really knew my name but he knew me by face, of that I was certain. Do you like how it looks now? I think I look more dashing ever since I made the changes-"

"You bastard you have no idea what you've done." Madeline breathed. Unable to stop the tears that rolled out of the corners of her eyes as she looked up at the cold hearted man, "Sherlock will never stop until you're at the end of his gun." Wanting, but knowing she couldn't weep- Madeline instead ground her nails into her palms nearly drawing blood. She did not want to be weak. …John wouldn't have wanted her to be weak. Not in front of him.

A heavy laugh came out of his mouth, a full toothed smile that had once enticed her now frightened her to no end. "Oh no, darling, Sherlock will be at the end of _my_ gun. You see I've basically given him very little to live for- just you is what's left now. Jim went all out- Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John- but of course he had to, he had a slight soft spot for his little sister you see. Well, not so much _you_ as the information you have, but that's all in good time. You see I went simpler, much simpler." Moran spoke with pride, "My Jimmy was always so elaborate, loved to play little games, loved to be subtle- but you know I'm much more blunt. A bomb at a symphony is enough to please me. A gunshot to the head is satisfying. …crushing the heart of Sherlock Holmes with two bullets- that's enough to _begin_ my satisfaction regarding _him_."

With a light proud smile Madeline spoke bitterly between tears, "took two bullets instead of one to kill John Watson, did it?"

"Oh no darling," Moran placed his hand on her forehead and began to run his fingers through her hair, "One did the trick for him, I don't like getting things messy. …The other one's for you."

"You'll never get those documents\. I don't know the safe code either. I don't even know if they're in there. You're wasting your time with me."

"Yes, well that is the unfortunate part of my revenge story isn't it? Jim's last wish was to get those files. I promised him I would…" A brief flash of sadness at remembering his lover came over Moran's face, "Which is why I'm not going to kill you, Madeline Smith. Not this time. No. This whole thing isn't even about those papers…"

"Then what's it about? Why did you bring me here?"

"This isn't about you either, darling Madeline. Goodness, are you always this self-absorbed? This is about Sherlock. This is about… _breaking_ him." Sebastian ground his teeth with contempt as he spat, "I want to hear every bone in his body crack beneath my fingers until the very last breath leaves his lungs." Containing his anger, putting it away and saving it, Moran continued more calmly, "then I'll let you go and you can feel free to use the elder Holmes at your disposal for finding those documents. I mean, he is the second best option now but he'll be the first once I'm done with your beloved."

"Sherlock's not my beloved-" Madeline began to insist hurriedly, only to garner a laugh from the assassin.

"Christ you're just as delusional as you were 3 years ago."

"He's more clever than you'll ever be." Madeline spat, "he'll figure you out, he'll figure out it's _"doctor Jack"_ and he'll come after us."

"Darling, I have every intention of him finding us. Well, not for a couple of weeks, though, I do want to have some fun with you first. You know, _really_ make him feel the pain of the knowledge that you're here with me and he's nearly helpless to get to you… god I _wish_ I was there to see his face as John died. …And as for the first part, you know it's hilarious how that man has so many that trust him and are so loyal to him because he's been lying to you all."

Even Madeline couldn't keep the curiosity off of her face as her heart began to lull into sadness. Sebastian looked down at her and continued bluntly, "He knows who I am, you silly girl. He's known for a good year that it was me."

Madeline looked away from him, unable to look into his eyes any longer as disappointment flooded her.

"Aw, no don't be sad. I bet you're wondering how he even didn't bother standing in the way of Molly dating me, hm? Well, can't really say that's all on him. He did discourage her but that's all he could- he had to keep my façade going. I'll give Sherlock Holmes credit where it's due- he is much cleverer than I am. He figured out who I was a year ago and stupid silly me I only realized he knew that he knew only just a day ago when he saw that body of that old agent I so subtly killed. Needles under the nails, not my first choice but a bullet to the head would be too obvious. Doctor Jack can't over-look such an obvious cause of death, so I set a little test for Sherlock and low and behold I realized he knew. And has known. …and that changed everything."

"Why?"

"Because he wasn't a step ahead anymore. I was for these past 24 hours he had no idea of my discovery of his knowledge." Moran threatened, "My initial thought to ambush you at your performance gave way quickly to this one. Had to get you away from clever Sherlock for this quick plan, but Irene Adler really is the _best _distraction, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't know." Madeline replied sassily between a clenched jaw.

Moran smiled down at her fondly, "You know, you and I could have been great friends if you would have just come on the funner side of things."

"I could never be friends with you, you dick. And you'll never get what's in that safe so you might as well just kill me now."

Holding up his finger, Moran shook it as if he were reprimanding a child, "Ah ah ah, don't start talking like that. I need what's in that safe- a promise is a promise. Not yet though so don't you worry about that until I let you out of here, I'm in no rush. I've given your beloved some puzzles to lead him here, I have faith he'll find them out in time. But in the meantime don't you worry about getting bored either!" Moran exclaimed with an excited smile. Reaching beneath the table he placed on his lap a clear plastic box with holes in the top and Madeline's worst nightmare inside.

"I'll make sure for the next couple of weeks- until that sexy broken down consulting detective gets here- we're going to have many activities for ourselves. You see…" Sebastian opened the lid. The light hissing of the big furry spider made sudden nausea climb its way up Madeline's throat. "Jim liked to talk, have little intellectual battles, I know your worst fears- remember, you told me all about them? And unlike him I'm more hands on so in the mean time…"

He picked up the large spider by its plump belly and held it over her chest, it began wiggling its eight legs in the air as it was slowly lowered. Madeline's heart began to pound like a drum. Her chest began to heave violently as her skin perspired all over her body, every vein shook and trembled and Moran only smiled as if he were a child getting ready to play with his funnest toys.

_Be brave… be brave… be brave…_

"Let's try to have some fun… my way."

* * *

**FIN Part 3. **

* * *

**Surprise! No one guessed who Moran was correctly, looks like I did my job right.**

**Comment on this chapter alone, or the whole part itself, or the series so far- or all at once! I love them all.**

**Also, Please don't kill me. **

**Love, **

**Wiz-Chic **


	13. Authors Note- Part 4 Up Now!

Hello Everyone! Chapter 1 of Part 4 is now up! I unfortunately can't directly link it here but it IS in my profile- of course.

It's called:

**Blind Endeavours- Part 4: _Adagio in G minor_ **The chapter is called '_The Game is On.' _

This part is going to be a shorter part- and it is really the most heart pounding one yet.

**Also- REALLY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ:** **Do not forget to either be following me as an author, or follow part 4 on it's own so that way you will get updates for whenever I update it. Follows do not continue from part to part as they are still posted as separate stories.**

To all of you who commented: I hope you're all still alive for this part- because you're going to want to read it. Trust me. It's going to be very exciting- most exciting and action packed part yet!

Link to the title inspired song is in my profile as well. Poster will be up soon I hope!

To the readers, commenters, and everyone who's with this- ILY.

Wiz-Chic


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